MELLICHAMPE 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  SANTEE. 


BY  W.  GILMORE  SIMMS. 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  PARTISAN,"  "THE  YEMASSEE,"  "KATHERINE  WALTON," 
"THE  SCOUT,"  "WOODCRAFT,"  "GUY  RIVERS,"  ETC. 


~RS1TY 

^&UFOI 


1R$&i0*& 


CHICAGO: 

DONOHUE,  HENNEBERRY  &  CO, 

407-425  DEARBORN  STREET 
1890 


M4/N 


ADVERTISEMENT 


.Tut  story  which  follows  is  rather  an  episode  in  tliej.rc.gresB 
jf  the  "Partisan,"  than  a  continuation  of  that  romance.  It 
•*««  no  neces«arv  connection  with  the  previous  story,  nor  does 
?t  form  any  portion  of  that  series  originally  contemplated  by 
the  author,  with  the  view  to  an  illustration  of  the  several 
prominent  periods  in  the  history  of  the  revolution  in  8outh 
Carolina;  although  it  employs  similar  events,  and  disposes  of 
borne  of  the  personages  iirst  introduced  to  the  reader  by  that 
initial  pnolication.  The  action  of  "  Melliehampe"  ne^-ins.  it 
is  true,  .vliere  the  "  Partisan"  left  off;  and  the  story  opens  by 
H  resumption  of  one  of  the  suspended  threads  of  that  narrative. 
Beyond  this,  there  is  no  connection  between  the  two  works ; 
and  the  reader  will  perceive  that  even  this  degree  of  affinity 
has  been  maintained  simply  to  indicate  that  the  etories  belong 
to  the  same  family,  and  to  prevent  the  necessity  of  breaking 
ground  anew.  Much  preliminary  narrative  has  thus  been 
avoided  ;  and  I  have  been  enabled  to  obey  the  good  old,  pop 
ular,  but  seldom-practised  rnixim  of  plunging  at  once  into  the 
bowels  of  my  subject.  The  "  Partisan''  wa»  projected  as  a 
sort  of  ground-plan,  of  sufficient  extent  to  admit  of  the  subse 
quent  erection  if  any  fabric  upon  it  which  the  caprice  of  the 
author,  or  the  q  tintity  of  his  material,  might  seem  to  warrant 
»',nd  encourage. 

The  two  works  \\  .licli  I  projected  to  follov  the  "  Partisan," 
iiiid  to  complete  the  series,  were  intended  to  comprise  evecta 


55  ADYKKTIS1CMKNT. 

more  strictly  historical  than  those  which  have  bren  employed 
in  this  "  Santec  legend."  The  reader  must  not,  however,  on 
hearing  this,  he  less  inclined  to  accept  "  Mjellj.cluLiup.e"  as  an 
historical  romance.  It  is  truly  and  legitimately  such.  It  is 
imbued  with  "lie  facts,  and,  I  believe,  so  far  as  I  myself  may 
be  admitted  as  *.  :udge,  it  portrays  truly  the  condition  of  the 
time.  The  events  made  use  of  are  all  historical ;  and  scarcely* 
;\  page  of  the  v/ork,  certainly  not  a  chapter  of  it,  is  waiting  in 
the  evidence  whkh  must  support  the  assertion.  Tl*e  career 
of  Marion,  as  here  described  during  the  precise  period  occu 
pied  by  the  narrative,  is  correct  to  the  very  letter  of  the  writ 
ten  history.  The  story  of  Barsfield,  so  far  as  it  relates  to 
public  events,  is  not  less  so.  The  account  which  the  lattei 
gives  of  himself  to  Janet  Berkeley  —  occurring  in  the  thir 
*y -seventh  chapter  —  is  related  of  him  by  tradition,  and  bears 
i  close  resemblance  to  the  recorded  history  of  the  notorious 
uolonel  Brown,  of  Augusta,  one  of  the  most  malignant  and 
vindictive  among  the  southern  loyalists,  and  one  who  is 
eaid  to  have  become  so  solely  from  the  illegal  and  unjusti 
fiable  means  which  were  employed  by  the  patriots  to  make 
him  otherwise.  The  whole  history  is  one  of  curious  interest, 
and,  if  studied,  of  great  public  value.  It  shows  strikingly 
the  evils  to  a  whole  nation,  and  through  successive  years, 
of  a  single  act  of  popular  injustice.  Certainly,  as  the  ebul 
litions  of  popular  justice,  shown  in  the  movements  of  revo 
lution,  are  of  most  terrible  effect,  and  of  most  imposing  conse 
quence  ;  so  the  commission  of  a  crime,  by  the  same  hands, 
must,  in  like  degree,  revolt,  the  sensibilities  of  the  freeman, 
and  inspire  him  with  a  hatred  which,  as  it  is  well-founded, 
ind  sanctioned  by  humanity  itself,  must  be  unforgiving  P.nd 
extreme.  The  excesses  of  patriotism,  when  attaining  power, 
have  been  but  too  frequently  productive  of  a  tyranny  more 
dangerous  in  its  exercise,  and  more  lasting  in  ils  effects,  than 
the  despotism  which  it  was  invoked  to  overthrow. 

The  death  of  Gabriel  Marion,  the  nephew  of  the  general, 
varies  somewhat,  in  the  romance,  from  the  account  given  of  the 
same  event  by  history  ;  but  the  story  is  supported  by  tradition. 
The  purs'  '.t  of  the  "swamp  fox"  by  Colonel  Tarletou  —  a  pur- 


ADVERTISEMENT.  J 

suit  dwelt  upon  with  imich  satisfaction  by  our  historians,  ns  an 
admirable  specimen  of  partisan  ingenuity  on  both  sides,  follows 
closely  the  several  authorities,  which  it  abridges.  The  char 
acter  of  Tarleton,  and  his  deeds  at  this  period,  present  a  sin 
gular  contrast,  in  some  respects,  to  what  was  known  of  him 
before.  His  popularity  waned  with  his  own  party,  and  hi\- 
former  enemies  began  to.  esteem  him  more  favorably  Wo 
have,  in  Carolina,  several  little  stories,  such  as  that  in  "Meil: 
shampe,"  in  which  his  human  feelings  are  allowed  to  appear, 
at  brief  moments,  in  opposition  to  his  wonted  practices,  and 
quite  at  variance  with  his  general  character.  Nor  do  I  see 
that  there  is  any  inconsistency  between  these  several  charac 
teristics.  The  sensibilities  are  more  active  at  one  momer.t 
than  at  another;  and  he  whose  mood  is  usually  merciless  and 
unsparing,  may  now  and  then  be  permitted  the  blessing  of  a 
tear,  and  the  indulgence  of  a  tenderness,  under  the  influence 
of  an  old  and  hallowed  memory,  kept  alive  and  sacred  in  some 
little  corner  of  the  heart  when  all  is  ossified  around  it. 

The  destruction  of  the  mansion-house  at  "Piney  Grove"  by 
Major  Singleton,  and  the  means  employed  to  effect  this  object, 
will  be  recognised  by  the  readers  of  Carolina  history,  and  the 
lover  of  female  patriotism,  as  of  true  occurrence  in  every  point 
of  view;  the  names  of  persons  alone  being  altered,  and  a 
slight  variation  made  in  the  locality.  Indeed,  to  sum  up  all 
in  brief,  the  entire  materials  of  "  Mellichampe" — the  leading 
events  —  every  general  action  —  and  the  main  characteristics, 
have  been  taken  from  the  unquestionable  records  of  history, 
and  —  in  the  regard  of  the  novelist  —  the  scarccTyTess'c'redihle 
testimonies  of  that  venerable  and  moss-mantled  Druid,  Tradi 
tion.  I  have  simply  forborne  to  call  it  an  historical  romance, 
as  it  contained  nothing  which  made  an  era  in  the  time  —  noth 
ing  which,  in  its  character  and  importance,  had  a  visible  effect 
upon  the  progress  of  the  revolution.  Let  us  now  pass  to  other 
topics 

It  is  in  bad  taste,  and  of  very  doubtful  policy,  for  an  author 
to  quarrel  with  his  critics  :  the  laugh  is  most  usually  against 
him  when  he  does  so.  1  shall  not  commit  this  error,  and  ho'^o 
not  to  incur  this  penalty  ;  nor,  indeed,  have  I  any  good  cause 


ANN  KUTiSKMKNT. 

to  justify  me  in  the  language  of  complaint.  My  critics  have 
usually  been  indulgent  to  me  far  beyond  my  merits  ;  and  I  ca^ 
:ee  a  thousand  imperfections  in  my  own  books  which  they 
have  cither  failed  to  discover,  or  forborne,  in  tenderness,  to 
:!\vell  upon.  Farther,  I  may  confess  —  and  I  find  no  shame  in 
iloing  so  —  whenever  they  have  dwelt  upon  deficiencies  and 
defects,  I  am  persuaded  that,  in  most  cases,  they  have  done  so 
with  perfect  justice.  In  many  instances  1  have  availed  my 
self  <)f  their  opinions,  and  subsequent  editions  of  my  stories 
have  always  borne  testimony  to  the  readiness  with  which, 
whene-'er  this  has  been  the  case,  I  have  adopted  their  sugges 
tions.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  an  occasional  personal  and  un 
friendly  reference  —  perhaps  a  show  of  feelings  even  more 
equivocal  in  the  case  of  some  random  reviewer  —  has  grazed 
harshly  upon  sensibilities  which  are  not  legitimate  topics  of 
critical  examination;  but  even  these  evidences  of  unjust  as 
sumption  and  false  position  have  been  more  than  counteracted 
by  the  considerate  indulgence  of  the  vast  majority  —  the  kind 
ness  of  the  reader  having  more  than  neutralized  the  asperities 
of  the  reviewer. 

But  while,  in  general,  the  opinions  of  the  critic  are  acknowl 
edged  with  respect  and  held  in  regard,  there  are  one  or  two 
topics  upon  which  I  would  willingly  be  justified  with  him. 
O'le  friendly  reviewer  —  a  gentleman  whose  praise  has  usually 
been  of  the  most  generous  and  least  qualified  character  —  one 
whoss  taste  and  genius  are  alike  unquestionable,  and  whose 
own  achievements  in  this  department  give  him  a  perfect  right 
to  be  heard  on  all  matters  of  romance  —  has  made  some  few 
abjections  to  portions  of  the  "  Partisan,"  and  —  with  all  defer 
ence  to  his  good  judgment,  and  after  the  most  cautious  con 
sideration —  I  am  persuaded,  with  injustice.  He  objects  to 
that  story,  in  the  first  place,  as  abrupt  and  incomplete.  That 
,t  is  unfinished  —  that  the  nice  hand  has  been  wanting  to 
smooth  down  and  subdue  its  rude  outlines  into  grace  and  soft 
ness  in  many  parts  —  I  doubt  not  —  I  deny  not.  The  work 
•//9.3  too  rapidly  prepared  for  that;  and  the  finish  of  art  can 
jnly  be  claimed  by  a  people  wilh  \\hom  art  is  a  leading  object 
l*o  other  people  are  well  able  to  pay  for  it  —  no  other  people 


AnVKUTiSKMKNT.  0 

ire  will  ing  to  pay  for  it  ;  ;niil.  under  tlie  necessity  of  haste,  the 
arts  in  our  country  must  continue  to  struggle  on,  until  the 
wealth  of  the  people  so  acciinuilat.es  as  to  enable  the  interior 
to  react  upon  the  Atlantic  cities.  When  the  forests  shall  cease 
to  be  attractive,  we  may  look  for  society  to  become  stationary  ; 
and,  until  that  is  the  case,  we  shall  look  in  vain  for  the  per 
fection  of  any  of  the  graceful  and  refining  influences  of  a  na 
tion.  But  the  objection  of  my  friend  was  one  of  more  narrow 
ing  compass:  it  was  simply  to  the  story,  as  a  story,  that  he 
urged  its  want  of  finish  —  its  incompleteness.  This  objection 
is  readily  answered  by  a  reference  to  the  plan  of  the  "Parti 
san,"  as  set  forth  in  the  preface  to  that  Avork.  The  story  was 
proposed  as  one  of  a  series,  the  events  mutually  depending 
upon  each  other  for  development,  and  the  fortunes  of  the 
personages  in  the  one  narrative  providing  the  action  and  the 
interest  of  all.  This  plan  rendered  abruptness  unavoidable; 
and  nobody  who  read  the  preface,  and  recognised  the  right  of 
an  author  to  lay  down  his  own  standards  and  prescribe  his 
own  plans,  could  possibly  utter  these  objections.  The  design 
may  have  been  unhappy,  and  in  that  my  error  may  have  lain ; 
but,  surely,  no  objection  can  possibly  lie  to  the  incompleteness 
or  abruptness  of  the  one  and  introductory  story,  if  no  exception 
was  taken  to  the  plan  at  first. 

•  Another,  and,  perhaps,  more  serious  cause  of  issue  lies  be 
tween  us.  My  friend  objects  to  the  preponderance  of  low  and 
vulgar  personages  in  my  narrative.  The  question  first  occurs, 
"  Does  the  story  profess  to  belong  to  a  country  and  to  a  period 
of  history  which  are  alike  known  —  and  does  it  misrepresent 
either?"  If  it  does  not,  the  objection  will  not  lie.  In  all 
othsr  respects  it  is  the  objection  of  a  romanticist  —  of  one  who 
is  willing  to  behold  in  the  progress  of  society  none  but  its 
most  lofty  and  elevated  attributes  —  who  will  not  look  at  the 
materials  which  make  the  million,  but  who  picks  out  from  their 
number  the  man  who  should  wdc,  not.  the  men  who  should 
re-present  —  who  requires  every  second  person  to  be  a  demigod, 
or  hero,  at  the  Isast  —  and  who  scorns  all  conditions,  that  only 
excepted  which  is  the  ideal  of  a  pure  mind  and  delicate  imagi 
nation.  To  make  a  fairy  tale,  or  a  tale  in  which  none  but  the 


6  ADVERTISEMENT. 

colors  of  the  rose  ujcl  rainbow  shall  predominate,  is  a  very 
different,  and,  let  me  add,  a  far  less  difficult  matter,  than  to 
depict  life  as  we  discover  it  —  man  in  all  his_nliascs,  as  lie  is 
modified  by  circumstance,  and  moulded  by  education  —  and 
man  as  the  optimist  would  have,  and  as  the  dreamer  about 
inane  perfectibility  delights  to  paint  him.'  My  object  usually 
has  been  to  adhere,  as  closely  as  possible,  to  the  features 
and  the  attributes  of  real  life,  as  it  is  to  be  found  in  the 
precise  scenes,  and  under  the  governing  circumstances  —  some 
of  them  extraordinary  and  romantic,  because  new  —  in  which 
my  narrative  has  followed  it.  In  this  pursuit,  I  feel  con 
fident  that  I  have  "  nothing  extenuated,  nor  set  down  aught 
in  malice."  I  certainly  feel  that,  in  bringing  the  vulgar 
and  the  vicious  mind  into  exceeding  activity  in  a  story  of 
the  borders,  I  have  done  mankind  no  injustice ;  and  while 
I  walk  the  streets  of  the  crowded  city,  and  where  laws  are 
said  to  exist,  and  in  periods  which,  by  a  strange  courtesy, 
are  considered  civilized,  I  am  still  less  disposed  to  admit  that 
my  delineations  of  the  species  in  the  wilds  of  our  country,  and 
during  the  strifes  of  foreign  and  intestine  warfare,  arc  drawn 
in  harsh  colors  and  by  a  heavy  hand.  I  am  persuaded  that 
vulgarity  and  crime  must  always  preponderate  —  dreadfully 
preponderate  —  in  the  great  majority  during  a  period  of  war; 
and  no  argument  would  seem  necessary  to  sustain  the  asser 
tion,  when  we  look  at  the  insolence  and  brutality  of  crime,  as 
it  shows  itself  among  us  in  a  time  of  peace.  Certainly,  if 
argument  be  needed,  we  shall  not  have  to  look  far  from  GUI 
great  cities  for  the  evidence  in  either  case. 

W.  G.  S. 


,VRV~ 

OR^ 


MELLICHAMPE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    CURTAIN    RISES. 

THE  battle  of  Dorchester  was  over ;  the  victorious  partisans, 
successful  in  their  object,  and  bearing  away  with  them  the 
prisoner  whom  they  had  rescued  from  the  felon's  death,  were 
already  beyond  the  reach  of  their  enemies,  when  Major  Proc 
tor,  the  commander  of  the  British  post,  sallied  forth  from  his 
station  in  the  hope  to  retrieve,  if  possible,  the  fortunes  of  the 
day.  A  feeling  of  delicacy,  and  a  genuine  sense  of  pain, 
had  prompted  him  to  depute  to  a  subordinate  officer  the  duty 
of  attending  Colonel  Walton  to  the  place  of  execution.  The 
rescue  of  the  prisoner  had  the  effect  of  inducing  in  his  mind 
a  feeling  of  bitter  self-reproach.  The  mortified  pride  of  the 
soldier,  tenacious  of  his  honor,  and  scrupulous  on  the  subject 
of  his  trust,  succeeded  to  every  feeling  of  mere  human  forbeai- 
ance  ;  and,  burning  with  shame  and  indignation,  the  moment 
he  heard  a  vague  account  of  the  defeat  of  the  guard  and  the 
rescue  of  Walton,  he  led  forth  the  entire  force  at  his  command, 
resolute  to  recover  the  fugitive  or  redeem  his  forfeited  credit 
by  his  blood.  He  had  not  been  prepared  for  such  an  event  as 
that  which  has  been  already  narrated  in  the  last  pages  of 
'  The  Partisan,"  and  was  scarcely  less  surprised,  though  more 

i* 


MKLUCHAMI'E. 

resolute  and  ready,  than  the  astounded  soldiers  un^er  his  com 
mand.  How  should  he  have  looked  for  the  presence  of  any 
force  of  the  rebels  at  such  a  moment,  when  the  defeat  and 
destruction  of  Gates's  army,  so  complete  as  it  had  been,  hai 
paralyzed,  in  the  minds  of  all,  the  last  hope  of  the  Americans  1 
With  an  audacity  that  seemed  little  less  than  madness,  and 
was  desperation,  a  feeble  but  sleepless  enemy  had  darted  in 
between  the  fowler  and  his  prey  —  had  wrested  the  victim  of 
the  conqueror  from  his  talons,  even  in  the  moment  of  his  fierce 
repast;  and,  v,ith  a  wild  courage  and  planned  impetuosity, 
had  rushed  into  the  very  ja\vs  of  danger,  without  shrinking, 
and  with  the  most  complete  impunity. 

The  reader  of  the  work  of  which  the  present  is  offered  as 
a  continuation,  will  perhaps  remember  the  manner  in  which  we 
found  it  necessary  to  close  that  story.  It  was  from  a  scene 
of  bloody  strife  that  AVC  hurried  the  chief  personages  of  the 
narrative  ;  and,  only  solicitous  for  their  safety,  paused  not  to 
consider  the  condition  of  the  field,  or  of  the  other  parties  who 
remained  behind.  To  that  field  we  will  now  return,  and  at  a 
moment  which  leaves  it  almost,  doubtful  whether,  in  reality, 
the  strife  be  ended.  The  cry  of  men  in  their  last  agony  — 
the  panting  prayer  for  a  drop  of  water  from  the  gasping  wretch, 
through  whose  distended  mouth  the  life-blood  pours  forth  more 
freely  than  the  accents  that  implore  Heaven  and  man  alike 
for  succor  and  relief — the  continued  flight  of  the  affrighted 
survivors,  and  the  approaching  rush  of  Proctor's  troop  —  these 
speak  as  loudly  for  the  dreadful  conflict  as  the  shrill  blast  of 
the  hurrying  trumpet,  or  the  sharp  clashing  of  conflicting 
steel.  The  beautiful  town  of  Dorchester,  in  a  bright  flame  at 
several  points,  illumined  with  an  unnatural  glare  the  surround 
ing  fields  and  foliage,  and,  with  the  shrieks  of  flying  women 
and  children,  still  more  contributed  to  the  terrible  force  of  the 
picture.  The  ruddy  light  bathed  and  enveloped  for  miles 
around,  with  a  brilliancy  deeper  than  that  of  the  sun,  the  high 
tops  of  the  towering  pines,  while  the  thick  dense  smoke, 
ascending  over  all,  hung  sluggishly  and  dark  in  the  slum 
berous  sky  of  August,  like  some  of  those  black  masses  of 
storm  that  usually  come  in  the  train,  and  burst  in  ruin  ove* 


TITE    CURTAIN    RISES.  11 

the  southern  cities,  with  the  flight  of  the  sister  mopth  of  Sep 
tember. 

The  hurry  of  Major  Proctor  was  in  vain,  He  came  too  late 
to  retrieve  the  fortunes  of  the  fight.  The  partisans  had 
melted  away  like  so  many  shadows.  Vain  were  all  his  efforts, 
and  idle  his  chagrin.  He  could  only  gaze  in  stupid  wonder 
ment  upon  the  condition  of  the  field,  admiring  and  deploring 
that  valor  Avhich  had  eluded  his  own,  and  set  at  naught  all  his 
precautions.  Never  had  surprise  been  more  complete  ;  never 
had  enterprise  been  better  planned  or  more  perfectly  executed, 
with  so  much  hazard,  and  with  so  little  loss.  The  whole 
affair  was  one  to  annoy  the  British  commander  beyond  all 
calculation.  There  was  nothing  to  remedy  —  there  was  no 
hope  of  redress.  The  rebels  were  beyond  his  reach  ;  and, 
even  were  they  not,  the  force  under  Proctor  was  quite  too 
small,  and  the  condition  of  his  trust,  in  and  about  Dorchester, 
of  too  much  hazard  and  importance,  to  permit  of  his  pursuing 
them.  Convinced  of  this,  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  field 
of  battle,  every  step  in  the  examination  of  which  only  con 
tributed  the  more  to  his  mortification  and  regret.  Several  of 
his  best  soldiers  lay  around  him  in  the  last  agonies  or  the  final 
slumbers  of  death  ;  several  were  maimed  or  wounded,  and 
the  few  who  survived  and  had  fled  from  the  unlooked-for  com 
bat,  had  not,  in  every  instance,  escaped  unhurt.  But  few  of 
the'  partisans  had  fallen,  and  their  wounds  had  all  been  fatal. 
They  were  no  longer  at  the  mercy  of  any  human  conqueror. 
There  was  none  upon  whom  the  mortified  commander,  had  he 
been  so  disposed,  could  wreak  his  vengeance,  and  punish  for 
the  audacity  of  his  rebel  leader.  The  bitterness  of  his  mood 
increased  with  th<3  conviction  that  there  was  no  victim  upon 
whom  to  pour  it  forth.  Revenge  and  regret  were  alike 
unavailing. 

While  thus  he  mused  upon  the  gloomy  prospect  and  the 
bloody  field,  the  soldiers,  who,  meanwhile,  had  been  dispersed 
about  in  the  inspection  of  the  adjoining  woods  and  scene  of 
strife,  came  before  him,  bringing  an  individual  whom  they  had 
found,  the  only  one  who  seeme\J  to  have  escaped  unhurt  in  the 
combat.  Yet  he  was  found  where  the  strife  appeared  to  hav« 


MKLLICHAMPE. 

been  hottest.  A  pile  of  dead  bodies  was  around  him,  and 
when  discovered,  lie  was  employed  in  turning  over  the  sense 
less  carcases  and  dragging  them  apart,  as  if  searching  for  some 
particular  object.  The  British  major  started  when  he  beheld 
him  ;  and,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  bronzed,  sinister,  and  well- 
known  features,  and  saw  with  what  calm  indifference  the  blear 
I  eye  of  the  half-breed  Blonay  met  his  own,  a  doubt  of  his  fidel 
ity  grew  active,  at  the  expense  of  one  whose  character  had 
always  been  too  equivocal  to  be  held  above  the  commission  of 
the  basest  treachery.  The  brow  of  the  Briton  put  on  new 
terrors  as  he  surveyed  him;  and,  glad  of  any  victim,  even 
though  not  the  most  odious,  he  addressed  the  reckless  savage 
in  the  sternest  language  of  distrust. 

"  What  do  you  here,  Blonay  ?  Speak  quickly,  and  without 
evasion,  or  you  shall  swing,  by  heaven,  on  that  gallows,  instead 
of  him  whom  you  have  helped  from  it.  Tell  out  the  whole 
story  of  this  traitorous  scheme  —  unfold  the  share  you  had  in 
it,  and  who  were  your  abettors  —  who  rescued  the  prisoner  — 
by  whom  were  they  commanded — how  many  —  and  where 
are  they  gone  ?  Answer,  fellow  ;  answer,  and  without  delay  ; 
speak  out !" 

Proctor  could  scarcely  articulate  his  own  requisitions,  so 
intense  were  his  anxiety  and  passion.  The  person  addressed 
seemed  almost  totally  unmoved  by  an  exhortation  so  earnestly 
made,  or  only  moved  to  defiance.  His  swarthy  cheek  grew 
even  darker  in  its.  depth  of  hue,  and  his  lips  were  now  reso 
lutely  fastened  together,  as  he  listened  to  the  language  of  his 
superior.  His  air,  full  of  scornful  indifference,  and  his  position, 
lounging  and  listless,  might  have  provoked  Proctor  to  an  act 
of  violence,  had'  they  been  maintained  much  longer.  But,  as 
if  moved  by  more  prudent  counsels  from  within,  the  half-breed, 
in  a  moment  after,  changed  his  posture  to  one  of  more  respect* 
ful  attention.  The  rigidity  passed  away  from  his  muscles  — 
his  high  cheek-bones  seemed  to  shrink  —  his  eyes  were  lowered 
—  and  his  head,  which  had  been  elevated  before  into  an  un 
wonted  loftiness,  was  now  suffered,  in  compliance  with  his 
usual  habit,  to  fall  upon  one  shoulder.  His  mood  grew  more 
Conciliatory  as  he  proceeded  to  reply  to  one,  at  least,  of  the 


THE   CURTAIN    itISIOS.  13 

several  questie  .is  which  Proctor  had  asked  him,  almost  in  a 
breath.  Siill,  however,  the  reply  of  the  half-breed  AVAS  found 
rather  to  accord  with  the  first  than  the  last  expression  of  his 
air  arid  attitude. 

"  And  if  you  was  to  hang  me  up,  major,  you  wouldn't  be  any 
the  wiser,  and  would  hear  much  less  than  if  you  was  to  let  me 
run." 

"  No  trifling,  sirrah,  but  speak  to  the  point,  and  quickly  :  I 
am  in  no  mood  for  jest.  Speak  out,  and  say  what  is  the  part 
you  have  taken  in  this  business.  The  truth,  sirrah  —  the 
truth  only  will  serve  you." 

"  I'm  no  rebel,  major,  as  you  ought  to  know  by  this  time. 
As  for  the  truth,  I'm  sure  I  can  tell  it,  if  you'd  ax  me  one 
thing  at  a  time.  I  a'n't  sparing  of  the  truth  when  I've 
got  it." 

"I  do  know  you,  sirrah,  and  know  you  too  well  to  trust 
you  much.  Briefly,  then,  and  without  prevarication,  do  you 
know  tb.e  parties  who  rescued  Colonel  Walton  ?  What  do 
you  know  of  the  matter  1  The  whole  truth  ;  for  I  have  the 
means  of  knowing  whether  you  speak  falsely  or  not." 

"  Well,  now,  major,  I  knows  no  great  deal ;  but  what  I 
knows  is  the  truth,  and  that  I'll  tell.  The  men  wliofoui  here 
'were  Marion's  men,  I  reckon.  I  looked  out  from  the  bay- 
bushes  there;  I  was  doubled  up  in  a  heap,  and  I  seed  the 
whole  business,  from  the  very  first  jump." 

"  Relate  the  matter." 

"•Relate  —  oh,  ay — tell  it,  you  mean.  Why,  then,  sir, 
the  rebels  came  down  the  trace,  from  out  the  cypress,  I  reckon, 
and " 

"  Who  led  them  ?"  demanded  Proctor,  impatiently. 

"  Why  I  reckon  'twas  Major  Singleton." 

"  Reckon  !     Do  you  not  know,  sir  ?" 

"  Well,  yes,  major,  I  may  say  I  do,  seeing  that  I  seed  him 
myself." 

"  And  why,  sirrah,  did  you  not  shoot  him  down  ?  You  knew 
he  was  a  rebel  —  that  a  price  was  set  upon  his  head  —  that 
yon  could  have  rendered  no  better  service  to  your  king  and 
to  yourself,  than  by  bringing  in  the  ears  of  a  traitor  BO 


*•*  MELL10HAMPK. 

troublesom  j  !     Had  you  not  your  rifle,  sirrah  ?     Why,  unless 
you  are  a  rebel  like  himself,  did  you  not  use  it?" 

"  Adrat  it,  major,  it  did  go  agin  me  not  to  pull  trigger  ;  but 
you  see,  major,  'twould  ha'  been  mighty  foolish  now.  More 
than  once  I  had  the  drop  on  both  of  'em,  and  could  easy 
enough  ha'  brought  down  one  or  t'other  with  a  wink ;  but  there 
was  no  fun  in  it,  to  think  of  afterward.  I  was  only  one  shot, 
yon  see,  sir,  and  quite  too  close  to  get  away.  They  were  alJ 
round  me,  and  I  had  to  lie  mighty  snug,  or  they'd  ha'  soon 
mounted  through  the  brush  upon  me  like  so  many  varmints ; 
and  the  swamp's  a  good  mile  off — too  far  off  for  a  man  that 
wants  to  hide  his  head  in  a  hurry.  It's  no  use,  major,  you 
know,  to  lose  one  for  one,  when  one's  all  you've  got." 

"Miserable  coward  !"  exclaimed  Proctor,  with  indignation. 
"  Miserable  coward,  to  count  chances  at  such  a  moment ; 
throwing  away  so  good  an  opportunity.  But  who  was  the 
other  person  ?  You  spoke  of  another  with  Singleton." 

"Eh1?  —  what1?"  was  the  vacant  and  seemingly  unconscious 
reply  of  Blonay.  The  impatience  of  Proctor  appeared  to 
increase. 

"The  other— the  person  beside  Singleton.  You  said  that 
your  aim  was  upon  both  of  them." 

A  quick,  restless,  dissatisfied  movement  followed  on  the  part 
of  the  half-breed  ;  and,  before  he  replied,  he  drew  himself  up 
to  his  fullest  height,  while  a  darker  red  seemed  to  overshadow 
his  features.  His  answer  was  hurried,  as  if  he  desired  to  dis 
miss  the  subject  from  his  mind. 
"  T'other  was  Bill  Humphries-." 

"And  why  have  you  named  him,  in  particular,  with  Single 
ton  r 

"  '  Jause  I  only  seed  him." 

"  What !  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  these  two  men  boat 
tie  guard  and  rescued  the  prisoner ?"  demanded  the  Briton, 
with  astonishment. 

"Adrat  it,  major,  no  —  I  don't  say  so.  There  was  a  matter 
of  twenty  on  'em  and  more  ;  but  I  didn't  stop  to  look  Alter  the 
rest.  I  took  sight  at  them  two  —  first  one  and  then  t'other; 
and,  more  than  once,  when  tlu-y  \von>  chopping  right  and  l?.ft 


THE   CURTAIN    RISES.  16 

aranng  the  red-coats,  I  could  ha*  dropped  one  or  t'other  for  cer- 
ta»n,  and  would  ha'  done  so  if  'twan't  for  the  old  woman.  She 
would  go  on  the  hill,  you  see." 

"  Who  V '  isked  the  officer. 

"  Why,  sir,  the  old  woman.  Jist  when  I  was  going  to  pull 
trigger  upon  that  skunk  Humphries,  as  he  came  riding  down 
the  road  so  big,  I  heard  her  cry  out,  and  I  couldn't  help  seeing 
her.  She  did  try  hard  to  get  out  of  the  way  of  the  horses,  but 
old  people,  major,  you  know,  can't  move  fast  like  young  ones, 
and  I  couldn't  help  her,  no  how." 

"  Of  whom  do  you  speak  now  V  demanded  Proctor.  "  What 
old  woman  are  you  talking  of?" 

Blonay  simply  lifted  his  finger,  without  changing  counte 
nance  or  position,  while  he  pointed  to  a  mangled  carcass  lying 
a  few  paces  from  the  place  of  their  conference,  It  was  there, 
indeed,  that  the  soldiers  of  Proctor,  on  their  coming  up,  had 
discovered  him  ;  and  the  eye  of  the  British  major  followed  the 
direction  of  Blonay 's  finger  only  to  turn  away  in  horror  and 
disgust.  The  miserable  features  were  battered  by  the  hoofs 
of  the  plunging  horses  out  of  all  shape  of  humanity,  yet  Proc 
tor  was  not  slow  to  comprehend  the  connection  between  the 
vagrant  before  him  .and  his  hag-like  mother.  Turning  away 
from  the  spectacle,  he  gave  directions  to  the  men  to  assist  in 
removing  the  carcass,  under  the  direction  of  the  son,  whom  he 
how'ever  proceeded  to  examine  still  farther,  and  from  whom, 
after  innumerable  questions,  he  obtained  all  the  leading  par 
ticulars  of  the  fray.  It  seemed  evident  to  Proctor,  when  his 
first  feeling  of  exasperation  had  subsided,  that  the  bereaved 
wretch  before  him  was  innocent  of  any  participation  in  the  as 
sault  of  the  partisans,  and  he  soon  dismissed  him  to  the  perfor 
mance  of  those  solemn  offices  of  duty,  the  last  which  were  to 
be  required  at  his  hands  for  the  parent  he  had  lost. 

Obedient  to  the  commands  of  their  superior,  the  soldiers  drew 
nigh,  and  proceeded  to  transfer  the  corpse  to  one  of  the  carts, 
which  they  had  now  already  filled  in  part  with  the  bodies 
of  some  of  those  who  had  been  slain.  The  son  resisted  them. 

"  You  a'n't  going  to  have  her  to  Dorchester  burying-ground 
— eU" 


16  MELLICHAMPE. 

"To  be  sure  —  where  else?"  was  the  gruff  reply  of  the  £oi 
c.ier  having  charge  of  the  proceeding. 

"  Adrat  it — she  won't  go  there,"  replied  Blonay. 

"And  how  the  d — 1  can  she  help  herself?  She's  as  deacl, 
poor  old  creature,  as  a  door-nail,  and  she's  been  hammered 
much  harder.  See  —  her  head's  all  mashed  to  a  mummy." 

He  raised  the  lifeless  mass,  and  allowed  it  to  fall  heavily  in 
(lie  cart,  as  if  to  convince  the  hearer,  however  unnecessarily, 
that  she  no  longer  possessed  a  will  in  the  transaction.  Blonay 
did  not  seem  to  heed  the  soldier,  but  explained  his  own  mean 
ing  in  the  following  words  : — 

"  There's  a  place  nearer  home  the  old  woman  wants  to  bci 
buried  in.  She  a'n't  guine  to  sleep  quiet  in  the  churchyard, 
with  all  them  people  round  her.  If  you  wants  to  help  me,  now. 
you  must  give  me  a  cart  on  purpose,  and  then  I'll  show  you 
where  to  dig  for  her.  She  marked  it  out  herself  long  time 
ago." 

His  wish  was  at  once  complied  with,  as  the  orders  of  Maj-)r 
Proctor  had  been  peremptory.  An  additional  cart  was  pro 
cured,  into  which  the  mangled  remains  were  transferred  by  the 
soldiers.  In  doing  this,  Blonay  lent  no  manner  of  assistance. 
On  the  contrary,  his  thoughts  and  person  were  entirely  giver, 
to  another  office  which  seemed  to  call  for  much  more  than  his 
ciistomary  consideration.  Bending  carefully,  in  all  directions, 
over  the  scene  of  strife,  even  as  a  hungry  hound  gathering  up 
from  the  tainted  earth  the  scent  of  his  selected  victim,  he 
noted  all  the  appearance  of  the  field  of  combat,  and  with  tire 
earnest  search  of  one  looking  for  the  ruined  form  of  a  lost  but 
etill  remembered  and  loved  affection,  he  turned  over  the  un 
conscious  carcasses  of  those  who  had  fallen,  and  narrowly  ex 
amined  every  several  countenance. 

"  He  a'n't  here,"  he  muttered  to  himself;  and  an  air  of  satis 
faction  seemed  to  overspread  his  face.  "  I  thought  so — I  seed 
him  go  to  the  cart,  and  he  warn't  hurt  then.  I'll  chaw  the 
bullet  for  him  yet." 

Thus  saying,  his  search  seemed  to  take  another  direction, 
and  he  now  proceeded  to  inspect  the  ground  on  which  the  bat 
tle  had  taken  pl;je<».  In  particular,  he  traced  out  upon  the 


THE    CUKT  Altf    KI5ES.  1  « 

soft  red  clay,  A\hich  had  retained  every  impression,  the  various 
marks  made  by  the  hoofs  of  the  shodden  horses.  One  of  these 
he  heedfully  regarded,  and  pursued  Avith  an  air  of  intense  sat 
isfaction.  The  impression  was  that  of  a  very  small  shoe — a 
deer  like  hoof-trace  —  quite  unlike,  and  much  smaller  than 
those  made  by  the  other  horses.  There  was  another  peculiar 
ity  in  the  shoe  which  may  be  rote -A.  That  of  the  right  forefoot 
seemed  in  one  place  to  be-  defective.  It  had  the  appearance 
•>f  being  either  completely  snapped  in  twain,  and  the  parts 
slightly  separated  directly  in  the  centre,  or  by  a  stroke  of  the 
narnmer,  while  the  metal  was  yet  malleable,  it  had  been  de 
pressed  by  a  straight  narrow  line  evenly  across.  Whateve. 
may  have  been  the  cause,  the  impression  of  the  shoe  upon  the 
earth  left  this  appearance  of  defect,  making  the  track  of  its 
owner  sufficiently  conspicuous  to  one  having  a  knowledge  of, 
and  on  the  look-out  for,  it.  Having  once  satisfied  himself  of 
the  continued  presence  of  the  shoe,  with  which  he  seemed  to 
have  been  previously  familiar,  he  gave  over  his  examination  ; 
and,  as  the  cart  was  now  ready,  and  all  preparations  completed 
for  the  return  of  the  party  to  the  village,  he  gathered  up  his 
rifle,  drew  the  'coon-skin  cap  over  his  eyes,  and,  without  a 
word,  at  once  fell  in  procession  with  the  rest,  following  close 
behind  the  body  of  his  mother.  Passing  through  the  village 
of  Dorchester,  where  they  only  paused  to  procure  a  coffin, 
whidh  was  furnished  by  the  garrison,  they  proceeded  directly 
to  the  miserable  cabin  a  few  miles  beyond,  which  she  had  hith 
erto  inhabited.  Here,  under  a  stunted  cedar,  in  a  little  hollow 
of  the  woods  behind  her  dwelling,  a  stake,  already  driven  at 
head  and  foot,  designated  the  spot  which  she  had  chosen  for 
her  burial-place.  The  spade  soon  scooped  out  a  space  for  her 
reception,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  miserable  and  battered 
hulk  of  a  vexed  and  violent  spirit  was  deposited  in  silence. 
The  son  lingered  but  a  little  while  after  the  burial  was  over. 
He  turned  away  soon  after  the  rest ;  and,  without  much  show 
of  sympathy,  and  with  none  of  its  feeling,  those  who  had  thus 
far  assisted  left  him  to  his  own  mood  in  the  now  desolate  abi 
ding-place  of  his  mother. 


MKM.XOBAMPK. 


CHAPTER  II. 

INDIAN    BLOOD. 

To  estimate  the  solitude  of  such  a  creature  as  Blonay  undef 
the  present  loss  of  his  parent,  by  any  of  those  finer  standards 
of  humanity  which  belong  to  a  higher  class  and  better  habits, 
would  be  manifestly  idle  and  erroneous.  But  that  his  iso 
lation  previously  from  all  others,  and  his  close  dependence  for 
sympathy  upon  the  one  relative  whom  he  had  just  lost,  added 
largely  to  his  degree  of  suffering  now,  is  equally  unquestion 
able.  Supposing  his  mere  human  feelings  to  have  been  few 
and  feeble,  they  were  yet  undivided.  Concentrating  upon  the 
one  object  as  they  had  done  for  so  long  a  period,  they  had 
grown  steady  and  unwavering ;  and,  if  not  very  strong  or  very 
active  at  any  time,  they  were  at  least  sufficiently  tenacious  in 
their  hold  to  make  the  sudden  wrenching  of  their  bands 
asunder  to  be  felt  sensibly  by  the  survivor.  But  he  did  full 
justice  in  his  deportment  to  the  Indian  blood  which  predom 
inated  in  his  veins.  He  had  no  uttered  griefs ;  no  tears  found 
their  way  to  -  his  cheeks,  and  his  eyes  wore  their  wonted 
expression,  as  he  took  his  seat  upon  the  floor  of  his  lonely 
cabin,  and,  stirring  the  embers  upon  the  hearth,  proceeded, 
I  with  the  aid  of  the  rich  lightwood  which  lay  plentifully  at  hand, 
to  kindle  up  his  evening  fire. 

But,  if  grief  Avere  wanting  to  the  expression  of  his  counte 
nance,  it  did  not  lack  in  other  essentials  of  expression. 
Having  kindled  his  fire,  he  sat  for  some  time  before  it  in 
manifest  contemplation.  His  brow  was  knitted,  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  struggling  blaze,  his  lips  closely  compressed,  and  a 
general  earnestness  of  look  indicated  a  laboring  industry  of 
thought,  wklcii,  were  he  in  the  presence  of  another  person 


INDIAN    BLOOD.  19 

would  never  have  been  suffered  so  plainly  to  appear.  For 
some  time  lie  sat.  in  this  manner  without  change  of  position, 
and  during-  all  this  period  it  would  seem  that  he  was  working 
out  in  his  mind  some  particular  plan  of  conduct,  in  the  pursuit 
of  an  object,  of  no  less  difficulty  than  importance.  Of  that 
object  we  can  only  conjecture  the  nature  from  a  reference  to 
events,  and  to  his  actual  condition.  The  vindictive  blood 
within  him  —  his. irresponsible  position  in  society  —  the  severity 
of  the  treatment  to  which,  justly  or  not,  he  had  been  subjected 
by  one  of  the  parties  between  whom  the  province  was  divided 
—  and  the  recent  dispensation  which  had  deprived  him  of  the 
companionship  of  one,  who,  however  despicable  and  disgust 
ing  to  all  others,  was  at  least  a  mother  to  him  —  were  circum 
stances  well  calculated  to  arouse  the  savage  desire  of  ven 
geance  upon  those  to  whom  any  of  his  sufferings  might  be 
attributed. 

That  such  were  his  thoughts,  and  such  the  object  of  his 
deliberations,  may  safely  be  inferred  from  the  few  words  of 
muttered  declamation  which  fell  from  his  lips  at  intervals  while 
thus  rapt  in  his  contemplations.  It  would  be  to  no  purpose 
to  record  these  words,  since  they  do  little  more  than  afford  a 
brief  and  passing  sanction  to  the  opinion  we  have  thus  ventured 
to  entertain,  and  prove,  at  the  same  time,  the  character  of  a 
mood  seemingly  hostile  to  humankind  in  general.  They 
were  bitter  anl  comprehensive,  and  summed  up,  to  the  cost  of 
humanity,  all  the  wrongs  to  which  he  had  been  subjected,  and 
many  others,  wrongs  in  his  sight  only,  of  which  he  but  com 
plained.  Yet  an  attentive  listener  might  have  observed,  tha* 
in  what  he  said  there  was  an  occasional  reference  to  one 
individual  in  particular,  who  was  yet  nameless  ;  which  ref 
erence,  whenever  made,  called  up  to  his  black,  penetrating, 
but  blear  eyes,  their  most  malignant  expression.  All  their 
fires  seemed  to  collect  and  to  expand  with  a  new  supply 
s>f  fuel  at  such  moments,  and  his  swarthy  skin  glowed  upon 
tiis  cheeks,  as  if  partaking  with  them  a  kindred  intensity  of 
blaze. 

He  remained  in  this  state  of  feeling  and  reflection  for  some 
hours,  indulging  his  usual  listnessness  of  habit  while  pursuing 


2O  MKLLTCHAMPE. 

the  thought  which  liis  mood  had  prompted;  when,  at  length, 
as  if  he  had  arrived  at  a  full  and  satisfactory  conclusion,  h«j 
arose  from  his  place,  supplied  the  lire  with  new  brands,  and, 
as  night  had  now  set  in,  proceeded  to  bring  forth  his  supper 
from  the  little  cupboard  where  it  usually  stood.  His  fare  was 
simple,  and  soon  despatched.  When  this  duty  had  been  per 
formed,  he  next  proceeded  to  such  arrangements  as  seemed  to 
indicate  his  preparation  for  a  long  journey.  lie  brought  forth 
from  the  recess  which  had  supplied  him  with  his  evening  repast 
a  small  sack  of  corn-meal,  possibly  a  quart  or  more,  and  a 
paper  containing  at  least  a  pound  of  common  brown  sugar.  A 
huge  hoe,  such  as  is  used  in  the  corn-field,  was  then  placed  by 
him  before  the  blazing  fire  —  the  flour  and 'sugar,  previously 
stirred  together,  were  spread  thickly  over  it,  and,  carefully 
watching  the  action  of  the  heat  upon  his  mixture,  he  took 
due  heed  to  remove  it  at  that,  period  when  he  perceived  the 
flour  to  grow  slightly  brown,  and  the  sugar  to  granulate  and 
form  in  common  particles  along  with  it.  It  was  then  with 
drawn  from  the  lire,  exposed  for  an  hour  to  the  air,  and 
afterward  poured  into  a  sack  made  of  the  deerskin,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  employed  frequently  for  a  like  purpose. 
To  this,  in  another  skin,  the  remnant  of  a  smoked  venison  ham 
was  added,  and  the  two  parcels,  with  one  or  two  other  items 
in  the  shape  of  hoe-cake  and  fried  bacon,  were  deposited  in 
a  coarse  sack  of  cloth,  opening  in  the  centre  like  a  purse,  and 
so  filled  as  to  be  worn  across  the  saddle  after  the  fashion  of  the 
common  meal-bag.  This  done,  he  proceeded  to  what  appeared 
a  general  overhaul  of  the  hovel.  Various  articles,  seemingly 
of  value,  were  drawn  out  from  their  secret  recesses  ;  these  were 
carefully  packed  away  in  a  box,  and,  when  ready  for  removal, 
their  proprietor,  honestly  so  or  not,  proceeded  to  secure  them 
after  his  own  manner.  Leaving  the  cabin  for  an  instant,  he 
went  forth,  and  soon  returned  bearing  in  his  hands  a  spade, 
with  which,  in  a  brief  space,  he  dug  a  hole  in  the  centre  of 
the  apartment  sufficiently  large  to  receive  and  conceal  his 
deposite.  Here  he  buried  it,  carefully  covering  it  over,  and 
treading  down  the  earth  with  his  feet  until  it  became  as  hard 
*g  that  which  had  been  undisturbed  around  it  Placing  eve*y  • 


INDIAN    BLOOD.  21 

thing  winch  he  was  to  remove  ready  for  the  moment  of  depar 
ture,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  miserable  pallet  of  his  hut,  and 
soon  fell  into  unbroken  sliunhgrg* 

The  stars  were  yet  shhJ  ig,  and  it  lacked  a  good  hour  of 
the  daylight,  when  he  arose  from  his  couch  ana  oegan  to  bestir 
himself  in  preparations  for  departure.  Emerging  from  the 
hovel  with  his  bundles,  as  we  have  seen  them  prepared  the 
night  before,  he  placed  them  under  a  neighboring  tree,  and, 
undoing  the  string  from  the  neck  of  the  hungry  cur  that  kept 
watch  in  his  kennel  immediately  beside  the  hovel's  entrance, 
he  left  him  in  charge  of  the  deposite,  while  he  took  his  way 
to  the  margin  of  a  little  canebrake  a  few  hundred  yards  off. 
There,  with  a  shrill  whistle  and  a  brief  cry  two  or  three  times 
repeated,  he  called  up  from  its  recesses  a  shaggy  pony — a 
^mature  of  the  swamps  —  a  hardy,  tough,  uncouth,  and  unclean 
little  animal,  which  followed  him  like  a  dog  to  the  hovel  which 
he  had  left.  The  hollow  of  a  cypress  yielded  him  saddle  and 
bridle,  and  the  little  goat-like  steed  was  soon  equipped,  and 
ready  for  his  rider.  This  done,  Blonay  fastened  him  to  a  tree 
ncAi-  his  dog,  and,  without  a  word,  proceeded  to  apply  the  torch 
to  several  parts  of  the  building.  It  was  not  long  before  the 
j'lamcs  rose  around  it  in  every  quarter  ;  and,  lingering  long 
enough  to  perceive  that  the  conflagration  must  now  be  effectual, 
the  half  breed  at  length  grasped  his  rifle,  mounted  his  tacky, 
and,  followed  by  his  ill-looking  dog,  once  more  took  his  way 
to  the  village  of  Dorchester. 

Moving  slowly,  he  did  not  reach  the  village  until  the  day 
had  fully  dawned.  He  then  proceeded  at  once  to  the  garrison, 
and  claimed  to  be  admitted  to  the  presence  of  the  commander. 
Proctor  was  too  good  a  soldier,  and  one  too  heedful  of  his  duty, 
to  suffer  annoyance  from  a  visit  at  so  early  an  hour  ;  and, 
though  not  yet  risen,  he  gave  orders  at  once  for  the  admission 
of  the  applicant,  and  immediately  addressed  himself  to  the 
arrangement  of  his  toilet.  With  a  subdued  but  calm  air  of 
humility,  Blonay  stood  before  the  Briton  —  his  countenance  as 
immovable  and  impassive  as  if  he  had  sustained  no  loss,  and 
was  altogether  unconscious  of  privation.  Regarding  him 
with  more  indulgence  than  had  hitherto  been  his  custom, 


2  MELLICHAMPE. 

Proctor  demanded  of  him,  first,  if  the  soldiers  had  properly 
assisted  him  in  the  last  offices  to  his  mother;  and  next,  his 
present  business.  Blonay  had  few  words,  .and  his  reply  was 
brief. 

"The  old  woman  didn't  want  much  help,  and  we  soon  put  her 
away.  About  what  I  want  now,  major;  it  a'n't  much,  and  it'll  be  a 
smart  bit  of  time  'fore  I  come  back  to  trouble  you  ag'in." 

"Why  where  do  you  propose  to  go?"  demanded  the  Briton. 

"I'm  thinking  to  go  up  along  by  Black  river,  and  so  up  into  A^7ill- 
iamsburgh,  and  perhaps  clear  away  to  old  Kaddipah— Lynch's  creek, 
as  they  calls  it  now.  I  don't  know  how  long  I  may  be  gone,  and  .it's 
to  get  a  paper  from  you  that  I'm  come." 

"  To  Black  river  and  Lynch's  creek— why,  know  you  not  that  the 
rebels  are  as  thick  as  hops  in  that  quarter?  What  carries  you 
there?" 

"There's  a  chap  in  that  quarter  stands  indebted  to  me,  and  I 
wants  he  should  settle,  seeing  pay-day's  come  and  gone  long  ago. 
I  a'n't  'fear'd  of  the  rebels,  for  I'm  used  to  the  woods  and 
swamps,  and  'ta'n't  often  I'll  be  in  their  company.  I'll  keep  out 
of  harm's  way,  major,  as  long  as  1  can;  and  when  I  can't  keep 
out  any  longer,  why,  then,  I'll  stand  a  shot,  and  have  done 
with  it." 

"And  what  sort  of  paper  is  it  that  you  desire  from  me?"  asked 
Proctor. 

"Why,  sir— a  little  protection  like,  that'll  be  good  ag'in  our 
own  people,  and  stand  up  for  my  loyalty.  You  can  say  I'm  a 
true  friend,  to  his  majesty,  and  how  you  knows  me;  and  that'll 
be  enough,  when  you  put  your  own  name  to  it  in  black  and 
white." 

"But  to  show  that  to  a  rebel  will  be  fatal  to  you.  How  will  you 
determine  between  them?" 

"Every  man  has  his  own  mark,  major,  same  as  every  tree;  and 
where  the  mark  don't  come  up  clear  to  the  eye,  it  will  to  the  feel  or 
the  hearing.  I'm  a  born  hunter,  major,  and  must  take  my  chance. 
I  a'n't  af ear 'd." 

"And  yet,  Blonay,  I  should  rather  not  give  you  a  passport  to  go  in 
that  quarter.  Can  you  not  wait  until  Lord  Cornwallis  takes  that 
route?  Is  your  claim  so  very  considerable? " 


INDIAN-   BLOOD.  23 

'"Ta'n't  so  much,  major,  but  I  can't  do  so  well  without  it.  I've 
been  in  want  of  it  long  enough,  and  I'm  dubous  him  that  owes  me 
will  clear  away  and  go  into  North  Carolina,  and  so  I'll  lose  it.  You 
needn't  be  scared  for  me,  major;  I'm  not  going  to  put  my  head  in 
the  bull's  mouth  because  njs  hide  has  a  price  in  market;  and  I  think, 
by  the  time  I  get  up  there,  Marion's  men  will  be  all  off.  I  a'n't 
afear'd." 

Proctor,  after  several  efforts  to  dissuade  him  from  his  pur 
pose,  finding  all  his  efforts  unavailing,  gave  him  the  required 
passport,  which  he  carefully  concealed  from  sight,  and,  with 
many  acknowledgments  and  professions  of  loyalty,  took  his 
departure.  From  Dorchester,  proceeding  to  the  battle-ground, 
he  again  carefully  noted  the  tracks  of  the  one  shoe,  which  he 
followed  with  the  keen  eye  of  a  hunter,  from  side  to  side  of  the 
road,  in  its  progress  upward  to  the  cypress  swamp.  Sometimes 
losing  it,  he  turned  to  the  bushes  on  either  hand,  and  where 
they  seemed  disordered  or  broken,  he  continued  the  trail,  until, 
again  emerging  from  the  cover,  he  would  find,  and  resume  the 
more  distinct  impression,  as  it  was  made  upon  the  clay  or  sandy 
road.  In  this  way  he  reached  the  broken  ground  of  the  swamp, 
and  there  he  lost  it.  Alighting,  therefore,  he  concealed  his 
pony  in  a  clump  of  bushes,  and  with  his  rifle  primed  and  ready 
for  any  emergency,  he  pursued  his  farther  search  into  the  bosom 
of  the  swamp  on  foot.  Here  he  still  thought  that  he  might  find 
the  partisans — if  not  the  entire  troop  of  Singleton,  at  least  a 
portion  of  it;  probably  —  though  on  this  head  he  was  not  san 
guine —  the  very  object  of  his  search.  From  point  to  point,  with 
unrelaxing  vigilance  and  caution,  he  stole  along  until  he  reached 
the  little  creek  which  surrounded  and  made  an  island  of  the  spot 
where  Singleton  had  held  his  temporary  camp. 

The  place  was  silent  as  the  grave.  He  crossed  the  narrow 
stream,  and  carefully  inspected  the  ground.  It  bore  traces 
enough  of  recent  occupation.  The  ashes  of  several  fires,  still 
retaining  a  slight  degree  of  warmth — the  fresh  track  of  horses, 
that  of  the  broken  shoe  among  them  —  hacked  trees  and  torn 
bushes  —  all  told  of  the  presence  there,  withm  a  brief  space,  of 
the  very  persons  whom  he  now  sought.  The  search  of  Blonay 


2'1  MELLICIIAMPB. 

worthy  of  that  of  the  ablest  Indian  hunter,  was  thorough  and 
complete.  From  the  one  island,  he  took  his  way  to  sundry 
others  which  lay  in  its  neighborhood,  susceptible  of  occupa 
tion,  in  all  of  which  he  found  traces  of  men  and  horses,  encour 
aging  him  to  proceed  farther  and  with  continued  caution.  At 
length  he  passed  an  oozy  bog,  and  stood  upon  a  little  hum 
mock,  which  seemed  formed  for  a  place  of  refuge  and  repose. 
An  awful  silence  rested  over  the  spot,  and  the  exceeding  height 
of  the  cypresses,  and  the  dense  volume  of  undergrowth  which 
surrounded  and  darkened  the  wide  intervals  between  them, 
seemed  almost  too  solid  to  admit  of  his  progress.  The  gloom 
of  the  region  had  all  the  intensity  of  night,  and  appeared  to 
impress  itself  upon  the  feelings  of  one  even  so  habitually  want 
ing  in  reverence  as  the  half-breeds.  He  stopped  for  an  in 
stant,  then  moving  forward  by  a  route  which  he  seemed  to 
adopt  with  confidence,  he  rounded  the  natural  obstruction  of 
woods  and  thicket,  and  an  amphitheatre  opened  before  him, 
not  so  spacious  as  it  was  perfect. 

He  paused  suddenly  —  he  heard  a  footstep  —  there  was  evi 
dently  a  rustling  in  the  woods.  He  stole  behind  a  tree  for  ail 
instant,  sank  upon  his  knee,  lifted  his  rifle,  which  he  cocked 
with  caution,  and  watched  the  quarter  intently  from  which  the 
sound  had  arisen.  A  shrill  scream  rose  upon  the  air,  and  in 
the  next  instant  he  beheld  a  monstrous  wildcat,  startled  like 
himself,  and  by  him,  bound  forward  to  an  opposite  point  of  the 
area,  and  leap  into  the  extending  arms  of  a  rotten  tree,  that 
shook  under  its  pressure.  Perching  upon  the  very  edge  of  a 
broken  limb  which  jutted  considerably  out,  it  looked  down  with 
threatening  glance  upon  his  approach.  He  rose  from  his  knees 
and  advanced  to  the  spot  whence  the  animal  had  fled  and  over 
which  it  still  continued  to  brood  with  flaming  eyes  and  an 
aroused  appetite.  It  was  not  long  before  Blonay  discovered 
the  occasion  of  its  presence. 

The  figure  of  a  man,  huge  in  frame,  seemingly  powerless, 
lay  stretched  upon  the  ground.  The  half-breed  soon  recog- 
uised  the  person  of  the  maniac  Frampton.  He  lay  upon  the 
little  mound  which  covered  the  remains  of  his  wife.  To  this 
be  seemed  t°>  have  crawled  with  the  latest  efforts  of  his  strength 


INDIAN    BLOOK  25 

That  strength  was  now  nigh  exhausted.  His  clothes  were  in 
tatters,  and  covered  with  traces  of  blood  and  mire.  His  blood 
shot  eyes  were  glazing  fast.  The  curtain  of  death  was  nearly 
drawn  over  them,  but  his  feeble  hand  was  uplifted  occasionally 
to  the  tree  where  the  wildcat  sat  watching  hungrily  for  the 
moment  Avhen  the  restless  but  feeble  motion  of  the  dying  man 
should  cease.  Blonay  approached,  and,  as  his  eye  glanced 
from  man  to  beast,  he  lifted  his  rifle,  intending  to  shoot  the 
monster.  The  action  seemed  to  irritate  the  creature,  whose 
half-suppressed  scream,  as  Blonay  advanced  his  foot  toward 
him  in  the  act  to  fire,  appeared  to  defy  and  threaten  him. 

"The  varmint!"  exclaimed  the  half-breed,  "  I  could  shoot 
him  now  easy  enough,  but  it's  no  use.  There's  plenty  more  on 
'em  in  the  swamp  to  come  after  him,  and  I  don't  love  them 
any  better  than  him.  There's  no  reason  why  I  should  keep 
jhe  meat  from  him  only  for  them.  It's  the  natur  of  the  beast 
to  want  its  fill,  and  what  the  wild-cat  don't  eat  the  buzzards 
must.  The  varmint  won't  touch  him  so  long  as  he  can  move  a 
finger,  and  when  he  can't  he  won't  mind  much  how  many  of 
em  get  at  him." 

So  speaking,  he  turned  from  the  animal  to  the  maniac. 
The  hand  was  uplifted  no  longer.  The  eye  had  nothing  of 
life's  language  in  it.  The  last  lingering  consciousness  had 
departed  for  ever  ;  and  Blonay  looked  up  to  the  watching 
wild-c^t,  as  he  turned  the  body  with  his  foot,  muttering  aloud 
as  he  did  so  —  "  Adrat  it,  you  may  soon  come  down  to  dinner." 

The  animal  uttered  a  short,  shrill  cry,  two  or  three  times 
repeated,  and  with  a  rising  of  its  bristles,  and  such  a  flashing 
of  its  eyes,  that  Blonay  half  determined  to  shoot  it  where  it 
stood,  for  what  appeared  to  him  its  determined  insolence. 
Once,  indeed,  he  did  lift  his  rifle,  but,  with  the  thought  of  a 
moment,  he  again  dropped  it. 

"  It's  only  a  waste,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  and  can  do  no 
good.  Besides,  it's  a  chawed  bullet.  It's  of  no  use  to  bite 
lead  when  a  wildcat's  to  be  killed.  Smooth  bullet  and  smooth 
bore  will  do  well  enough,  and  them  I  ha'n't." 

Such  were  his  words  as  he  turned  away  from  the  spot,  and 
departed  for  the  place  where  his  horse  was  fastened  —  such 


-f'  MKU.ICHAMl'K. 

was  liis  phibsophy  The  bullet,  marked  for  vengeance  by  the 
impression  of  his  teeth,  was  not  to  be  thrown  away  upon  mere 
pastime  ;  and,  though  feeling  a  strong  desire  to  destroy  the 
cat,  he  was  yet  able  to  forbear.  He  hurried  through  the  quag 
mire,  but  had  not  gone  far  when  the  repeated  screams  of  the 
animal,  calling  probably  to  its  fellows,  announced  to  the  half 
breed  that  he  had  already  begun  to  exult  in  the  enjoyment  of 
big  long-withheld  and  tn.rian  banquet. 


FHE    COMPANIONS. 


CHAPTER   III.    . 

THE    COMPANIONS. 

BLONAV  emerged  from  the  swamp  only  to  commence  a 
ney  of  new  difficulties;  the  termination  of  which  he  could  not 
foresee.  Leaving  him  upon  the  road  for  a  while,  we  will  now 
change  the  scene  to  that  beautiful  tract  of  country  lying  close 
along  the  borders  of  the  Santee,  and  stretching  thence,  in  a 
northwardly  direction,  across  the  present  district  of  Williams- 
burgh  to  the  river  Kaddipah  —  a  stream  which,  according  to 
modern  usage,  has  shared  the  fate  of  most  of  our  Indian 
waters,  and,  exchanging  that  more  euphonious  title  conferred 
upon  it  by  the  red  man,  is  now  generally  known  to  us  as 
Lynch's  creek.  With  a  patriotic  hardihood,  that  will  be  ad 
mitted  to  have  its  excuse  if  not  its  necessity,  we  choose  to 
preserve  in  our  narrative  the  original  Indian  cognomen  when 
ever  we  may  find  it  necessary  to  refer  to  it ;  and  the  reader, 
whose  geographical  knowledge  might  otherwise  become  con 
fused,  will  henceforward  be  pleased  to  hold  the  two  names  as 
identical,  if  not  synonymous. 

To  the  Santee,  extending  from  point  to  point  in  every 
direction  leading  to  the  Kaddipah,  the  action  of  the  Carolina 
partisans  was  for  a  long  time  limited.  Our  narrative  will  be 
confined  within  a  like  circuit.  The  entire  region  for  nearly 
two  hundred  miles  on  every  hand,  was  in  the  temporary  and 
occasional  occupation  of  Marion  and  his  little  band.  With 
the  commission  of  the  state,  conferring  upon  him  the  rank  of  a 
brigadier  in  its  service.  Governor  Rutledge  had  assigned  to  the 
brave  partisan  the  entire  charge  in  and  over  all  that  immense 
tract  comprehended  within  a  line  drawn  from  Charleston  along 
the  Atlantic  to  Georgetown,  inclusive  —  thence  in  a  westerly 


MELLICUAMPE. 

direction  to  Camden,  and  thence  in  another  line,  including  the 
Santee  river,  again  to  Charleston.  This  circuit  comprehended 
the  most  wealthy  and  populous  portion  of  the  state,  and  could 
not,  under  existing  circumstances,  have  heen  intrusted  1  >  better 
hands.  And  yet,  not  a  foot  of  it  but  was  in  actual  possession 
and  under  the  sway  of  the  invader.  His  forts  and  garrisons 
at  moderate  intervals,  covered  its  surface,  and  his  cavalry, 
made  up  chiefly  of  foreign  and  native  mercenaries,  constantly 
traversed  the  entire  space  lying  between  them. 

The  worthy  governor  of  South  Carolina,  thus  liberal  in 
appropriating  this  extensive  province  to  the  care  of  the  parti 
san,  dared  not  himself  set  foot  upon  it  unless  under  cover  of 
the  night ;  and  the  brave  man  to  whom  he  gave  it  availed 
himself  of  the  privileges  of  his  trust  only  by  stratagem  and 
stealth.  Fortunately,  the  physical  nature  of  the  country  BO 
bestowed  was  well  susceptible  of  employment  in  the  hands  of 
such  a  warrior  as  Marion.  It  afforded  a  thousand  natural  and 
almost  inaccessible  retreats,  with  the  uses  of  which  the  partisan 
had  been  long  familiar.  The  fastnesses  of  river  and  forest, 
impervious  to  the  uninitiated  stranger,  were  yet  a  home  to  the 
swamp  fox."  He  doubled  through  them,  night  and  day,  to 
the  continual  discomfiture  and  mortification  of  his  pursuers. 
From  the  Santee  to  th<*  Black  river,  from  the  Black  river 
the  two  Peedees,  through  the  Kaddipah,  to  thence  to  Wacca- 
nvah,  and  back  again  to  the  Santee,  he  led  his  enemies  a  long 
chase,  which  wearied  out  their  patience,  defied  their  valor,  and 
eluded  all  their  vigilance.  Availing  himself  of  their  exhaus 
tion,  he  would  then  suddenly  turn  upon  the  pursuing  parties, 
watch  their  movements,  await  the  moment  of  their  neglect  or 
separation,  and  cut  them  up  in  detail  by  an  unlooked-for  blow, 
which  would  amply  compensate  by  its  consequences  for  all  the 
previous  annoyance  to  which  he  might  have  been  subjected 
in  the  pursuit. 

It  was  to  his  favorite  retreat  at  Snow's  island  that  Major 
Singleton  followed  his  commander,  after  the  successful  on 
slaught  at  Dorchester.  Himself  familiar  with  the  usual  li  id  ing- 
places,  he  had  traced  his  general  with  us  much  directness  as 
was  possible  in  following  one  so  habitually  cautious  as  Marion 


THK    COMPANIONS.  29 

He  had  succeeded  in  uniting  with  him,  though  after  much 
difficulty  ;  and,  as  the  partisan  studiously  avoided  remaining 
very  long  in  any  one  place,  the  union  had  scarcely  been 
effected  before  the  warriors  were  all  again  in  motion  for  the 
upper  Santee.  This  river,  bold,  broad, .rapid,  and  full  of  intri 
cacies,  afforded  the  finest  theatre  for  the  sort  of  warfare  which 
they  carried  on.  Its  course,  too,  was  such  as  necessarily 
made  it  one  of  the  great  leading  thoroughfares  of  the  state. 
Detachments  of  the  enemy's  troops  were  continually  passing 
and  repassing  it,  in  their  progress  either  for  the  seacoast  or  the 
interior.  Supplies  and  recruits  to  Cornwallis  —  then  in  North 
Carolina  —  despatches  and  prisoners  in  return  from  him  to  the 
Charleston  garrison,  made  the  region  one  of  continual  life, 
and,  to  Marion,  of  continual  opportunity.  Hanging  around 
its  various  crossing-places,  like  some  vigilant  and  vengeful 
hawk  in  confident  expectation  of  his  prey,  he  kept  an  unsleep 
ing  watch,  an  untiring  wing,  an  unerring  weapon.  In  its 
intricacies  we  shall  find  him  now  —  the  swamps  not  less  his 
home  than  the  element  of  his  peculiar  genius.  His  scouts  are 
dispersed  around  him  in  all  directions,  and  in  all  disguises  — 
lying  in  the  bush  by  the  wayside  —  crouching  in  the  oozy  mire 
in  close  neighborhood  with  the  reptile — watchful  above,  and 
buried  in  the  thick  overhanging  branches  of  the  tree- 
crawling  around  the  cottage  enclosure,  in  readiness  and  wait 
ing  for  the  foe. 

The  scene  to  which  we  would  now7  direct  the  eye  of  our 
reader  is  sufficiently  attractive  of  itself  to  secure  his  attention. 
The  country  undulates  prettily  around  us,  for  miles,  in  every 
direction  :  now  rising  gently  into  slopes,  that  spread  them 
selves  away  in  ridges  and  winding  lines,  until  the  sight  fails 
tc  discover  the  valleys  in  which  they  lose  themselves  —  and 
now  sinking  abruptly  into  deepening  hollows  and  the  quietest 
dells,  T/hose  recesses  and  sudden  windings,  thickly  covered 
with  the  massive  and  umbrageous  natural  growth  of  the  region, 
terminate  at  last,  as  by  a  solid  wall,  the  long  and  variously- 
shadowed  prospect.  On  the  one  hand  a  forest  of  the  loftiest 
pines,  thousands  upon  thousands  in  number,  lies  in  the  deep 
majestj  of  unappropriated  silence  In  the  twilight  of  thei» 


MELLICriAMPE. 


t  dense  and  sheltered  abodes,  the  meditative  and  melancholy 
mind  might  fitly  seek,  and  readily  obtain,  security  from  all 
obtrusion  of  uncongenial  objects.  Even  tlu  subtile  and  op 
pressive  beams  of  the  August  sun  come  as  it  were  by  stealth 
and  tremblingly,  into  their  solemn  and  sweet  recesses.  Tlieii 
tops,  gently  waving  beneath  the  pressure  of  the  slight  breeze  as 
it  hurries  over  them,  yield  a  strain  of  murmuring  song  like  the 
faint  notes  of  some  spirit  mourner,  which  accords  harmoniously 
with  the  sad  influence  of  their  dusky  forms.  The  struggling  and 
stray  glance  of  sunlight,  gliding  along  their  prostrated  vistas, 
rather  contributes  to  increase  than  remove  the  sweet  gloom 
of  these  deep  abodes.  The  dim  ray,  like  an  intrusive  pres 
ence,  flickering  between  their  huge  figures  with  every  move, 
ment  of  the  declining  sun,  played,  as  it  were,  by  stealth 


amon< 


ig  the  brown  leaves  and  over  the  gray  bosom  of  the  earth 
below.  Far  as  the  eye  can  extend,  these  vistas,  so  visited, 
spread  themselves  away  in  fanciful  sinuosities,  until  the  mind 
becomes  unconsciously  and  immeasurably  uplifted  in  the  con 
templation  of  the  scene,  and  we  feel  both  humbled  and  eleva- 
te.i  as  we  gaze  upon  the  innumerable  forms  of  majesty  before 
us,  rising  up,  it  would  seem,  without  a  purpose,  from  the  bosom 
of  earth --living  without  notice  and  without  employ  —  un 
curbed  in  their  growth  — untroubled  in  their  abodes  — and 
perishing  away  in  season  only  to  give  place  to  succeeding  myr 
iads  having  a  like  fortune. 

On  the  other  hand,  as  it  were,  to  relieve  the  mind  of  the 
spectator  from  the  monotonous  influence  of  such  a  survey,  how 
different  is  the  woods  — how  various  the  other  features  of  the 
scene  around  us.  Directly  opposed  to  the  pine-groves  on  the 
one  hand,  we  behold  the  wildest  and  most  various  growth  of 
the  richest  southern  region  rising  up,  spreading  and  swelling 
around  in  the  most  tangled  intricacy  —  in  the  most  luxurious 
strength.  There  the  hickory  and  gum  among  the  trees  attest 
the  presence  of  a  better  soil  for  cultivation,  and  delight  the 
experienced  eye  of  the  planter.  With  these,  clambering  over 
their  branches,  come  the  wild  vines,  with  their  thorny  arms 
and  gl  .wing  vegetation,  Shrubs  gather  in  the  common  w-ay  ; 
dwari  trees  and  ^,  (ants,  choked,  and  overcome,  yet  living  still 


31 

attest  the  fruitfulness  of  a  land  which  yields  nutriment  but 
de_njm_place ;  and  innumerable  species  of  fungi,  the  yellow 
and  the  purple  fringes  of  the  swamps,  the  various  mosses,  as 
various  in  hue  as  in  form  and  texture  —  parasites  that  have  no 
root,  and,  like  unselfish -affections,  only  claim  an  object  upon 
which  to  bestow  themselves  —  these,  crowding  about  and  clus 
tering  in  gay  confusion  along  the  dense  mass,  swelling  like  a 
fortresb  before  the  eye,  seem  intended  to  form  a  labyrinthine 
retreat  for  the  most  coy  of  all  selfish  creations. 

Immediately  beyond  this  dense  and  natural  thicket,  die 
scene  —  still  the  same  —  presents  us  with  another  aspect.  A 
broken  and  dismantled  fence,  the  rails  half  rotten  and  decay 
ing  fast  on  all  sides,  seems  to  indicate  the  ancient  employment 
of  the  place  by  man.  The  period  must  have  been  remote, 
however,  as  the  former  product  of  the  spot  thus  enclosed  had 
been  superseded  by  the  small-leafed  or  field  pine-tree,  in  suf 
ficient  size  and  number  almost  to  emulate  the  neighboring  and 
original  forest.  There  was  little  here  of  undergrowth,  and 
yet,  as  the  pine  thus  occupying  it  is  of  inferior  and  frequently 
of  dwarf  size,  the  thicket  was  sufficiently  dense  for  temporary 
concealment  It  had  a  farther  advantage  in  this  respect,  as  it 
sunk  rapidly  in  sundry  places  into  hollows,  that  lay  like  so 
many  cups  in  the  bosom  of  crowding  hills,  and  had  for  their 
growth,  like  the  original  wood  we  have  just  passed  over,  a 
tangled  covering  of  vines  and  shrubbery. 

It  was  on  the  side  of  one  of  these  descents,  about  noon,  on 
the  third  day  after  Blonay's  departure  from  Dorchester,  that 
we  find  two  persons  reclining,  sheltered  by  a  clump  of  the 
smaller  pines  of  which  we  have  spoken,  and  sufficiently  con 
cealed  by  them  and  the  shrubbery  around,  to  remain  uncon 
cerned  by  the  near  proximity  of  the  highway.  The  road  ran 
along,  and  within  rifle  distance,  to  the  south,  below  them 
rlhe  elder  of  the  two  was  a  man  somewhere  between  thirty 
and  forty  years  of  age.  Llis  bulky  form,  as  it  lay  extended 
along  the  grass,  denoted  the  possession  of  prodigious  strength  ; 
though  the  position  in  which  he  lay,  with  his  face  to  the 
ground,  and  only  supported  by  his  palms,  borne  up  by  his  el 
bows  resting  upon  tho  earth,  would  incline  the  spectator  to 


rnnceive  him  one  not  often  disposed  for  its  exercise.  An  air 
"f  sluggish  inertness  marked  his  manner,  and  seemed  to  single 
him  out  as  one  of  the  mere  beef-eaters  —  the  good  citizens, 
v/h<>,  so  long  as  they  get  wherewithal  to  satisfy  the  animal, 
aro  not  apt  to  take  umbrage  at  any  of  the  doings  of  the  world 
about  them.  His  face,  however,  had  an  expression  of  its  own  ; 
avd  the  sanguine  flush  which  overspread  the  full  cheeks,  and 
the  quick,  restless  movement  of  his  blue  eye,  spoke  of  an 
active  spirit,  and  one  prompt  enough  at  all  times  to  govern 
and  set  in  motion  the  huge  bulk  of  that  body,  now  so  inert 
and  sluggish.  His  forehead,  though  good,  was  not  large;  hie 
chin  was  full,  and  his  nose  one  of  length  and  character.  He 
was  habited  in  the  common  blue  and  white  homespun  of  the 
country.  A  sort  of  hunting-shirt,  rather  short,  like  a  doublet, 
came  over  his  hips,  and  was  bound  about  his  waist  by  a  belt 
of  the  same  material.  A  cone-crowned  hat,  the  rim  of  which, 
by  some  mischance,  had  been  torn  away,  lay  beside  him,  and 
formed  another  portion  of  his  habiliments.  Instead  of  shoes, 
he  wore  a  rude  pair  of  buckskin  moccasins,  made  after  the  In 
dian  manner,  though  not  with  their  usual  skill,  and  which  lack 
ed  here  and  there  the  aid  of  the  needle.  His  shirt-collar  lay 
open,  without  cravat  or  covering  of  any  kind  ;  and,  by  the 
deeply-bronzed  color  of  the  skin  beneath,  told  of  habitual  ex 
posure  to  the  elements.  A  rifle  lay  beside  him  —  a  long  in 
strument, —  and  in  his  belt  a  black  leather  case  was  stuck 
conveniently,  the  huge  knife  which  it  protected  lying  beside 
him,  as  it  had  just  before  been  made  subservient  to  his  mid 
day  meat. 

His  companion  was  a  youth  scarcely  more  than  twenty 
years  of  age,  who  differed  greatly  in  appearance  from  him  we 
have  attempted  to  describe.  His  eye  was  black  and  fiery,  his 
cheek  brown  and  thin,  his  hair  of  a  raven  black  like  his  eye, 
his  chin  full,  his  nose  finely  Roman,  and  his  forehead  impo 
singly  high.  His  person  was  slender,  of  middle  height,  and 
seemed  to  indicate  great  activity.  His  movements  were  fever 
ishly  restless  —  he  seemed  passionate  and  impatient,  and  his 
thin,  but  deeply  red  lips,  quivered  and  colored  with  every 
word  and  at  every  movement.  There  was  more  of  pretension 


THE   COMPANIONS.  33 

in  his  dress  than  in  that  of  his  companion,  though  they  were 
not  unlike  in  general  structure  and  equipment.  Like  him  he 
wore  a  hunting-shirt,  but  of  a  dark  green,  and  it  could  be  seen 
at  a  glance  that  its  material  had  been  of  the  most  costly  kind. 
A  thick  fringe  edged  the  skirts,  which  came  lower,  in  propor 
tion  to  his  person,  than  those  of  his  companion.  Loops  of  green 
cord  fastened  the  coat  to  his  neck  in  front,  and  a  belt  of  black 
polished  leather  confined  it  to  his  waist.  He  also  carried  a  rifle 
—  a  Spanish  dirk,  with  a  broken  handle  of  ivory  was  stuck  in 
his  belt,  a  pouch  of  some  native  fur,  hanging-  from  his  neck 
by  a  green  cord,  contained  his  mould  and  bullets.  This  dress 
formed  the  uniform  of  a  native  company.  His  powder-horn 
had  been  well  chosen,  and  was  exceedingly  and  curiously  beautiful. 
It  had  been  ingeniously  wrought  in  scraping  down,  so  as  to 
represent  a  rude  but  clear  sketch  of  the  deer  in  full  leap,  a  hound 
at  his  heels,  and  a  close  thicket  in  the  perspective,  ready  to 
receive  and  shelter  the  fugitive.  These  were  all  left  in  relief 
upon  the  horn,  while  every  other  part  was  so  transparent  that 
the  several  grains  of  powder  were  distinctly  visible  writhin  to 
the  eye  without, 

The  youth  was  partially  reclining,  with  his  back  against  a 
tree,  and  looking  toward  his  elder  companion.  His  face  was 
flushed,  and  a  burning  spot  upon  both  cheeks  told  of  some 
vexing  cause  of  thought  which  had  been  recently  the  subject 
of  conversation  between  them.  The  features  of  the  elder 
indicated  care  and  a  deep  concern  in  the  subject,  whatever  it 
may  have  been ;  but  his  eye  was  mild  in  its  expression,  and  his 
countenance  unruffled.  He  had  been  evidently  laboring  to 
soothe  his  more  youthful  comrade  ;  and  though  he  did  not  seem 
to  have  been  as  yet  very  successful,  he  did  not  forego  his 
efforts  in  his  disappointment.  The  conversation  which  followed 
may  help  us  somewhat  in  arriving  at  a  knowledge  of  the  diffi 
culty  before  them. 

"I  am  not  more  quick  or  impatient,"  said  the  youth  to  his 
companion,  as  if  in  reply  to  some  remark  from  the  other,  "than 
a  man  should  be  in  such  a  case.  Not  to  be  quick  when  one  is 
wronged,  is  to  invite  injustice  ;  and  I  am  not  so  young,  Thumb 
screw,  as  not  to  have  found  that  out  by  my  own  experience.  I 


4  MELLICIIAMPE. 

know  no  good  that  comes  of  submission,  except  to  make  tyrant! 
and  slaves  ;  and  I  tell  yon,  Thumbscrew,  that  so  long  as  my 
uaine  is  Ernest  Mellichampe,  I  shall  never  submit  to  the  one, 
nor  be  the  other." 

"  A  mighty  fine  spirit,  Airnest ;  and  to  speak  what's  gospel 
true,  I  likes  it  myself,"  was  the  reply  of  the  other,  who  ad 
dressed  the  first  speaker  with  an  air  of  respectful  deference 
as  naturally  as  if  he  had  been  taught  to  regard  him  as  a 
superior.  "  I'm  not,"  he  continued,  '*  I'm  not  a  man  myself  tc 
let  another  play  tantrums  with  me  ;  and,  for  sartain,  I  sha'n  f. 
find  fault  with  them  that's  most  like  myself  in  that  partic'lai. 
If  a  man  says  he's  for  fight,  I'll  lick  him  if  I  can;  if  I  can't 
—  that's  to  say,  if  I  think  I  can't — I'll  think  longer  about  it. 
I  don't  see  no  use  in  fighting  where  it's  ten  to  one — where, 
indeed,  it's  main  sartain  I'm  to  be  licked  ;  and  so,  as  I  says, 
I'll  take  time  to  think  about  the  fighting." 

"  What!  until  you're  kicked?"  replied  the  other,  impet 
uously. 

"  No,  no,  Airnest —  not  so  bad  as  that  comes  to  neither.  My 
idee  is,  that  fighting  is  the  part  of  a  beast-brute,  and  not  for 
a  true-born  man,  that  has  a  respect  for  himself,  and  knows 
what's  good-breeding;  and  I  only  fights  when  there's  brutes 
standing  waiting  for  it.  Soon  as  a  man  squints  at  me  as  if  he 
was  going  to  play  beast  with  me,  by  the  eternal  splinters,  I'll 
mount  him,  lick  or  no  lick,  and  do  my  best,  tooth,  tusk,  and 
grinders,  to  astonish  him.  But,  afore  that,  I'm  peaceable  as  a 
pine  stump,  lying  quiet  in  my  own  bush." 

"  Well,  but  when  you're  trodden  upon?"  said  the  other. 

"Why  then,  you  sec,  Airnest,  there's  another  question  — 
who's  atop  of  me?  If  it's  a  dozen,  I'll  lie  snug  until  they're 
gone  over  :  I  see  nothing  onreasonable  or  onbecorning  in  that 
—  and  that,  you  see,  Airnest,  is  jist  what  I  ax  of  you  to  do. 
They  a'n't  treading  on  you  'xactly,  tho'  I  do  confess  they've 
been  mighty  nigh  to  it ;  but  then,  you  see,  there's  quite  too  many 
on  'fin  for  you  to  handle  with,  onless  you  play  'possum  a  little. 
There's  no  use  to  run  plump  into  danger,  like  a  blind  bull 
into  a  thick  fence,  to  stick  fast  there  and  be  hobbled  ;  when 
if  you  keep  your  eyes  open,  and  a  keen  scent,  you  can  track 


THE   COMPANIONS.  4*. 

all  your  enemies,  one  by  one,  to  his  own  kennel,  and  smoke 
'em  out,  one  after  another,  like  a  rabbit  in  a  dry  hollow.  Hear 
to  my  words,  Airnost,  and  don't  be  vexed  now.  Dang  my 
buttons,  you  know,  boy,  I  love  you  the  same  as  if  you  was  my 
own  blood  and  bone,  though  I  knows  my  place  to  you,  and 
know  you're  come  of  better  kin,  and  are  better  taught  in  book- 
larning;  but,  by  God  !  Airnest,  you  hav'n't  lamed,  in  all  your 
laming,  to  love  anybody  better  than  I  love  you." 

••  I  know  it,  Thumby,  I  know  it — I  feel  it,"  said  the  other, 
moved  by  the  earnestness  of  his  companion,  and  extending  his 
hand  toward  him,  while  his  eyes  filled  with  ready  tears.  —  "1 
know  it,  I  feel  it,  my  friend  ;  forgive  rne  if  I  have  said  any 
thing  to  vex  you.  But  my  heart  is  full,  and  my  blood  is  on 
fire,  and  I  must  have  utterance  in  soms  way." 

"  Never  cry,  Airnest — don't,  I  tell  you  —  'taint  right  —  it's 
oubecoming,  Airnest;  but  —  dang  it!"  he  exclaimed,  dashing 
a  drop  from  his  own  eye  as  he  spoke,  "  dang  it !  I  do  believe 
I've  been  about  to  do  the  same  thing.  But  it's  all  the  fault 
of  one's  mother,  as  larns  it  to  us  so  strong  when  we're  taking 
suck,  that  we  'member  it  for  ever  after.  A  man  that's  got  a- 
fighting',  and  in  the  wars  with  tories  one  day  and  British  the 
next,  it's  onbecoming  for  him  to  cry  ;  and,  Arrnest,  though 
things  are  black  enough  about  home,  it's  net  black  enough  to 
cry  for.  It'll  come  light  again  before  long,  I'm  sartain.  I've 
never  seed  the  time  yet  when  there  wasn't  some  leetle  speck 
of  light  on  the  edge  of  the  cloud  somewhere  —  it  mought  ba 
ever  so  leetle,  or  ever  so  fur  off,  but  it  was  there  somewhere ; 
it  mouglit  be  in  the  east,  and  that  showed  the  clearing  away 
was  further  off;  or  it  mouglit  be  in  the  northward,  and  that 
wasn't  the  best  place  either  for  it  to  break  in,  but  it  was 
somewhere  for  certain  —  that  leetle  speck  of  white;  jist  like 
a  sort  of  promise  from  God,  that  airth  should  have  sunshine 
again." 

"  Would  I  could  behold  it  now,"  responded  the  other,  gloom 
ily,  to  the  cheering  speech  of  his  companion,  "  would  I  could 
behold  it  now  !  But  I  see  nothing  of  this  promise— there  is 
no  bright  speck  in  the  dark  cloud  which  now  hangs  about  my 
fortunes." 


36  MELLICHAMl'K. 

"  You're  but  young,  yet,  Airnest,  and  it  a'u't  time  yet  for 
you  to  talk  so.  You  haven't  had  a  full  trial  yet,  and  you're 
only  at  the  beginning — as  one  may  say,  jist  at  the  threshold 
of  the  world,  and  ha'n't  quite  taken  your  first  step  into  it. 
Wait  a  little  ;  and  if  you've  had  a  little  nonplush  at  the  begin 
ning,  why,  man,  I  tell  you,  larn  from  it  —  for  it's  a  sort  of 
lesson,  which,  if  you  larn  it  well,  will  make  you  so  much  the 
wiser  to  get  on  afterward,  and  so  much  the  happier  when  thi 
storm  blows  over.  Now,  I  don't  think  it  so  bad  for  them  that 
has  misfortunes  from  the  jump.  They  are  always  the  best 
people  after  all;  but  them  that  has  sunshine  always  at  first,  1 
never  yet  knew  one  that  could  stand  a  shower.  They're  always 
worried  at  everything  and  everybody  —  quarrelling  with  this 
weather,  and  quarrelling  with  that,  and  never  able  to  make  the 
most  of  what  comes  up  to  'em.  Hold  on,  Airnest  —  shut  your 
teetii,  and  keep  in  your  breath,  and  stand  to  it  a  leetle 
logger.  That's  my  way  ;  and,  when  I  keep  to  it,  I'm  always 
sure  to  see  that  leetle  white  speck  I've  been  telling  about, 
wearing  away  all  round,  till  it  comes  right  before  my  eyes, 
and  there  it  sticks,  and  don't  move  till  the  sunlight  comes  out 
again." 

"  You  ma^  be  right  in  your  philosophy,"  responded  the 
youth,  "  and  I  would  that  I  could  adopt  it  for  my  own ;  but  my 
experience  rejects,  and  my  heart  does  not  feel  it.  These 
evils  have  come  too  fasL  and  too  suddenly  upon  me.  My  father 
cruelly  murdered  —  my  mother  driven  away  from  the  home 
af  my  ancestors  —  that  home  confiscated,  and  given  to  the 
murderer  —  and  I,  a  hunted,  and,  if  taken,  a  doomed  man  !  It 
is  too  much  for  my  contemplation.  My  blood  boils,  my  brain 
burns  — I  can  not  think,  and  when  I  do  it  is  only  to  madden." 

The  speaker  paused  in  deepest  emotion.  His  hand  clasped 
his  forehead,  and  he  sank  forward,  with  his  face  prone  to  the 
earth  upon  which  he  had  been  reclining.  His  companion 
lifted  his  hand,  which  he  took  into  his  own,  and,  with  a  deep 
solicitude  of  manner,  endeavored,  after  his  own  humble  fashion 
of  argument  and  speech,  to  exhort  his  youthful  and  almost 
despairing  associate  to  better  thoughts  and  renewed  energy. 

"Look  up,  Airnest,  my  dear  boy,  look  up,  and  listen  to  ine, 


THE    COMPANIONS.  37 

Airnest.  It's  unbecoming  to  be  cast  down  like  a  woman,  be 
cause  trouETe  presses  upon  the  heart.  I  know  what  trouble  is, 
and,  dang  my  buttons,  Airnest,  I  feel  for  you  all  over;  but  I 
don't  like  to  see  you  cast  down,  because  then  I  think  you  a'n't 
able  to  turn  out  to  have  "satisfaction  upon  the  enemy  for  what 
they've  done  to  you.  Now,  though  I  do  say  you're  to  keep 
quiet,  and  lie  snug  at  the  present,  that  isn't  to  say  that  you're 
to  do  nothing.  No,  no  —  you're  to  get  in  readiness  for  what's 
to  come,  and  not  be  wanting  when  you  have  a  chance  to  turn 
your  enemy  upon  his  back.  It  a'n't  revenge,  but  it's  justice, 
and  my  lawful,  natural  right,  that  I  fights  for  ;  and  you  mustn't 
be  cast  down,  Airnest,  seeing  that  then  you  mought'n  be  ready 
:o  take  the  benefit  of  a  good  opportunity." 

"  It's  revenge  not  less  than  justice,"  said  the  youth,  impa 
tiently.  "  I  must  have  the  one,  whether  the  other  bo  obtained 
or  not  I  will  have  it  —  I  will  not  sleep  in  its  pursuit;  and 
yet,  Thumbscrew,  I  will  take  your  advice — I  will  be  prudent 
in  order  to  be  successful  —  I  will  pause  in  order  to  proceed. 
Do  not  fear  me  now  —  I  shall  do  nothing  which  will  risk  my 
adventure  or  myself;  but  I  will  temper  my  mood  with  caution, 
and  seek  for  that  vengeance,  which  shall  be  the  white  speck 
among  the  clouds  of  which  you  have  spoken." 

"  Well,  now,  that's  what  I  call  becoming,  and  straight-for 
ward  right.  I'm  for  —  but  hush  !  don't  you  hear  something  like 
a  critter  ?  and  —  that  was  the  bark  of  a  cur,  I'll  be  sworn  to  it." 

The  sturdy  woodman  thrust  his  ear  to  the  earth,  and  the 
sound  grew  more  distinct. 

"  Keep  close,  Airnest,  now,  and  I'll  Icok  out,  and  make  ah 
examination.  There's  only  one  horse,  I  reckon,  from  the 
sound  ;  but  I'll  see  before  I  leave  the  bush.  I'll  whistle  should 
I  want  you  to  lend  a  hand  in  the  business." 

Seizing  his  rifle  as  he  spoke,  with  an  alacrity  which  seemed 
incompatible  with  his  huge  limbs,  and  must  have  surprised  one 
who  had  only  beheld  him  as  he  lay  supine  before,  he  bounded 
quickly  but  circumspectly  up  the  hill,  and  through  the  copse 
toward  the  highway  whence  the  sounds  that  had  startled  them 
appeared  to  proceed.  The  cause  of  the  disturbance  may  very 
well  be  reserved  for  explanations  in  another  chapter. 


MKLLICIIAMJ'E. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

YORKSHIRE  VERSUS  YORKSHIRE. 

BEFORE  reaching  the  road  the  sturdy  woodman  became  yet 
more  cnutions,  and,  Ptealing  from  cover  to  cover,  thus  eluded 
any  eye  that  might  be  approaching  upon  it.  He  gained  the 
cover  of  a  little  bodge,  formed  of  the  tallow-bush  and  myrtle, 
and  crouched  cautiously  and  silently  out  of  sight,  as  he  per 
ceived,  from  the  vhort,  quick  cry  of  the  cur,  that  he  was  ad 
vancing  rapidly.  He  had  scarcely  done  so,  and  arranged  an 
aperture  in  the  copse  through  which  he  might  observe  the 
road,  when  he  beheld  the  cause  of  the  uproar  which  the  dog 
was  making.  Leaping  in  irregular  bounds,  and  evidently 
nearly  exhausted,  a  frightened  rabbit  came  down  the  trace, 
inclining  from  the  opposite  and  open  ground  of  pine  forest,  to 
the  close  bushes  in  which  he  was  himself  concealed. 

"Poor  Bon,"  exclaimed  the  woodman,  "  it's  a  bad  chance 
for  her  this  time.  I  only  hope  she  won't  pop  into  this  quarter, 
or  it  will  be  a  bad  chance  for  some  of  her  friends." 

The  muttered  apprehensions  of  the  woodman  were  realized. 
His  eye  had  scarcely  noted  the  pursuing  dog  which  emerged  from 
the  wood  closely  upon  the  rabbit's  heels,  when  the  poor  thing 
mshed  to  the  very  shelter  in  which  he  stood,  and,  darting  be 
tween  his  legs,  was  there  secured  by  their  involuntary  pres 
sure  together.  He  stooped  to  the  earth,  and  took  up  the  trern- 
rding  animal,  which  lay  quivering  in  his  grasp,  preferring,  by 
the  natural  prompting  of  its  instinct,  to  trust  the  humanity  of 
man  rather  than  the  well-known  nature  of  the  enemy  which 
had  pursued  it. 

"  Poor  Bonny,"  said  the  woodman,  soothingly,  as  he  caressed 
it.  "Poor  Bon— you  could'nt  "help  it,  Bon.iy  —  you  were  too 


YOKKSIIIKK    VERSUS     VOKKSHIRK.  39 

mighty  frightened  to  know  the  mischief  you're  a-doing.  Ten 
to  one  you've  got  us  into  a  hobble,  now ;  but  there's  nothing 
to  be  done  but  to  see  it  out." 

The  dog  by  this  time  rushed  into  the  brush,  and  recoiled 
instantly  as  he  beheld  the  stranger.  The  quick,  rapid  cry 
with  which  he  had  pursued  the  rabbit,  was  exchanged  for  the 
protracted  bark  with  which  he  precedes  his  assault  upon  the 
man.  His  white  teeth  were  displayed,  and,~as  if  conscious  of 
approaching  support,  he  advanced  boldly  enough  to  the  attack. 
The  woodman  grew  a  little  angry,  and  lifting  his  rifle  in  one 
hand,  while  maintaining  the  terrified  but  quiet  rabbit  in  the 
other,  he  made  an  exhibition  of  it  which  prompted  the  cur  to 
give  back.  It  was  then  that,  through  the  bushes,  he  saw  a 
person  approaching  along  the  road  whom  he  readily  took  to 
be  the  owner  of  the  dog.  Ho  dropped  his  rifle  instantly,  which 
he  suffered  to  rest,  out  of  sight,  against  a  tree  which  stood  be 
hind  him  ;  and,  hallooing  to  the  new-comer,  he  advanced  with 
out  hesitation  from  his  place  of  concealment  into  the  road. 

Blonay  —  for  it  was  he  —  drew  up  his  tacky,  and  the  rifle 
which  he  carried  across  the  saddle,  in  his  hand,  was  grasped 
firmly,  and,  at  the  first  moment,  was  partially  uplifted  ;  but 
seeing  that  the  stranger  was  unarmed,  he  released  his  hold, 
and  saluted  him  with  an  appearance  of  as  much  good-humor 
as  lie  could  possibly  put  on.  Thumbscrew  advanced  to  him 
with  the  trembling  rabbit  which  he  macis  the  subject  of  hia 
first  address. 

"How  are  you,  stranger?  I  reckon  this  is  some  of  your 
property  that  I've  got  here  —  seeing  as  how  your  dog  started 
it.  I  cotched  it  'twixt  my  legs  —  the  poor  thing  was  so  scared, 
it  did'nt  know  —  not  it  —  that  'twas  going  out  of  the  frying-pan 
into  the  fire.  It's  your'n  now  ;  though,  dang  it,  stranger,  if  so 
be  you  don't  want  it  much,  I'd  rether  now  you'd  tell  me  to  put 
it  down  in  the  bush  and  let  it  run,  while  you  make  your  dog 
hold  in.  It's  so  scared,  you  see,  and  it's  a  pity  to  hurt  any 
thing  in  naturwheu  you  see  it  scared." 

He  patted  the  feeble  and  trembling  animal  encouragingly 
as  he  spoke,  and  Blonay  was  surprised  that  so  large  a  man 
should  be  so  gently  inclined.  He  himself  cared  little,  at  any 


40  MKLLICHAMl-K. 

time,  about  the  feelings  and  the  fears  of  yet  larger  objects 
His  reply  to  the  application  for  mercy  was  favorable,  bow- 
ever. 

"  Well,  if  you  choose,  my  friend,  you  can  let  it  go.  I  don'i 
want  it.  The  dog  only  started  it  for  his  own  fun,  seeing  that 
it's  toe  nature  of  the  beast.  Here,  Hitch'em,  Hitch'em !  lie 
down,  nigger  —  and  shut  up.  You  can  let  her  go  now,  my 
friend." 

Bionay  quieted  his  dog,  and  Thumbscrew  took  his  way  into 
cover,  watched  his  moment,  and,  with  a  parting  pat  upon  its 
back,  and  a  cheering  "  Hurrah,  Bou  !  run  for  it  with  your  best 
legs,"  dismissed  the  little  captive,  once  more  in  safety,  to  its 
forest  habitations.  He  then  returned  to  the  spot  where  Blonay 
remained  in  waiting,  and,  in  his  blunt,  good-humored  way,  at 
once  proceeded  to  commence  a  conversation  with  him,  after 
the  manner  of  the  country,  with  a  direct  question. 

"Well,  now,  stranger,  you've  been  travelling  a  bit — can 
you  tell  me,  now,  if  you've  seed  anywhere  in  your  travels  a 
man  or  boy  that  looks  very  much  like  a  thief,  riding  upon  a 
fine,  dark-bay  nag,  that  looks  like  he  was  stolen?" 

"  No,  that  I  haven't,  friend  ;  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  but  I 
haven't  seen  any,"  v^as  the  reply  of  Blonay. 

"  Well,  you  needn't  03  obliged  to  me,  stranger,  seeing  it's 
no  service  to  you,  tli3  question  I  ax'd  you.  But  if  it  a'n't 
axing  you  too  much,  I  should  like  to  know  which  road  you 
come." 

"  Well,  to  say  truth,  now,  my  friend,  I  don't  know  the  name 
it  goes  by ;  it's  a  main  bad  road,  you  see." 

"  I  ax,  you  see,  because,  when  you  tells  me  you  a'n't  seed 
the  nag  and  them  that's  riding  him  on  the  road  you  come,  it's 
a  clear  chance  they've  gone  t'other.  So,  now,  if  you'll  only 
but  say  which  road  you  tuk,  I'll  take  the  contrary." 

The  reasoning  was  so  just,  and  the  air  of  simplicity  so  com 
plete,  which  the  inquirer  had  put  on,  that  Blonay  saw  no  ne 
cessity  for  keeping  concealed  so  unimportant  a  matter  as  tho 
mere  route  which  he  had  been  travelling;  so,  without  any  fur 
ther  scruple,  he  gave  the  required  information. 

"  Well,  then,  J  reckon,  stranger,  you're  all  the  way  frorp 


YORKSHIRE  VEKSUS  YORKSHIRE.  41 

the  big  city,  clear  down  to  the  salt  seas.     There's  a  power  of 
people  there  now,  a'n't  there?" 

"  I  a'n't  from  Charleston,"  coldly  replied  the  half-breed. 

"  Oh,  you  a'n't !  but,  do  tell  — you  hear'd  about  a  man  that 
s\  as  hung  at  Dorchester— -reckon  you -seed  it?" 

'  He  worn't  hung  ;  he  got  off." 

'•What!  they  pardoned  him —  and  so  many  people  as  was 
guine  to  see  him  dance  upon  nothing?  What  a  disappoint 
ment!  1  was  a-guine  down  myself,  but.  you  see,  I  lost  n-\y 
critter,  and  so  I  couldn't ;  and  now  I'm  glad  I  didn't,  if  so  be 
as  you  say,  he  worn't  hung." 

"No,  he  worn't  hung:  there  was  a  fight,  and  he  got  ayay. 
But.  this  is  only  what  they  tell  me ;  I  don't  know  myself." 

-Who  tell'd  you?'' 

"  The  people." 

"What,  them  that  seed  it?  Perhaps  them  that  did  it 
ch  r 

This  was  pushing  tho  matter  quite  too  far,  and  Blonay  be 
gan  to  be  uneasy  undei  so  leading  a  question.  He  replied 
quickly,  after  the  evasive  manner  which  was  adopted  between 
them  — 

"  No !  I  don't  know ;  they  told  me  they  heard  it,  and  I 
didn't  ax  much  about  it,  for  it  worn't  my  business,  you  see." 

"  Oh  !  that's  right  —  everybody  to  his  own  business,  says  I 
and,,  where  people's  a-fighting,  clean  hands  and  long  distance 
is  always   best   for  a   poor  mm   and   a  stranger.     They  gits 
a-fighting  every  now  and   then  in  these  here  parts,  and  they 
do  say  they're  a-mustering  now  above  the  sodgers." 

''What  soldiers?"  demanded  Blonay,  with  an  air  of  interest 

"Eh!  what  sodgers  1  Them  that  carries  guns  and  swords, 
and  shoots  people,  to  be  sure  :  them's  sodgers,  a'n't  they  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  but  have  they  got  on  uniforms,  or  is  it  only  them  that 
carries  a  rifle,  or  a  knife,  or  perhaps  a  rusty  sword,  or  a  hatchet  ? 
Some  soldiers,  you  know,  has  fine  boots  and  shoes,  with  shi 
ning  buttons,  and  high  caps  and  feathers;  and  some  ha'n't  got 
shoes,  and  hardly  breeches." 

Blonay  had  become  the  examiner,  and  had  begun  with  a 
leading  question  also.  He  hail  fairly  described  the  British 


MKI,LI',;JIAM1  E. 

and  tory  troops  in  hit;  enumeration  of  the  one,  and  the  rebels, 
or  whigs,  in  the  deciription  of  the  latter  class.  The  formei 
were  usually  well  provided  with  arms,  ammunition,  and  every 
necessary  warlike  equipment;  the  whigs  were  simply  riflemen, 
half  the  time  without  powder  and  lead,  and,  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  war,  without  necessary  clothing.  To  tell  Blonay 
R'hich  of  these  two  classes  was  in  the  neighborhood,  was  no 
part  of  Thumbscrew's  policy  ;  and  his  reply,  though  unsatis 
factory,  was  yet  given  with  the  most  off-handed  simplicity. 

"  They're  all  the  same  to  me  stranger,  breeches  or  no 
breeches,  boots  or  no  boots,  lugl).  caps  and  feathers,  or  a  rag 
ged  steeple  like  mine  —  they're  all  the  same  to  me.  A  sodger's 
a  sodger;  any  man  that  can  put  a  bullet  into  my  gizzard,  or 
cut  me  a  slash  over  my  cheek,  ir:  and  down,  without  any  mar- 
cy  for  my  jawbone  —  he's  a  sodger  for  me,  and  I  gits  out  of 
his  way  mighty  soon,  now,  when  I  hear  of  his  coming.  It's  a 
lad  business  that,  stranger,  and  I  hope  you  don't  deal  in  it. 
I  say  I  hope  so,  for  I  don't  like  to  see  a  man  I  may  say  I 
know,  chopped  up  and  down,  and  bored  thiough  his  head,  or 
his  belly,  without  any  axing,  and  perhaps  onbeknown  to  him." 

No  interest  could  be  seemingly  so  earnest  as  that  which 
Thumbscrew  manifested,  as  he  thus  expressed  his  anxiety  on 
the  score  of  Goggle's  connection  with  the  military.  He  put 
his  hand  warmly,  as  he  spoke,  upon  the  neck  of  the  little  tacky 
which  the  other  bestrode  —  a  movement  which  the  rider  did 
not  seem  very  greatly  to  approve,  as  he  contrived,  in  the  next 
moment,  by  a  sudden  jerk,  to  wheel  the  animal  away  from  the 
grasp  of  the  stranger,  and  to  present  himself  once  more  in  front 
of  him.  Thumbscrew  did  not  appeal1  to  charge  the  movement 
so  much  upon  the  rider  as  the  horse. 

"  Well,  now,  stranger,  your  nag  is  mighty  skittish.  It's  a 
stout  pony  that,  and  smells,  for  all  the  world,  as  if  it  had  fed 
on  cane-tops  and  salt-marsh  all  its  life.  Talking  about  horses, 
now,  I've  heard  say  that  they  were  getting  mighty  scarce  down 
in  your  parts,  where  the  troops  harry  them  with  hard  tiding. 
Home  say  that  they  were  buying  and  stealing  all  they  could, 
to  bring  troops  up  into  this  quarter.  You  a'u't  hear'd  any  say 
about  it,  I  reckon  ?" 


YORKSHIRE    VERSUS    YORKSHIRE.  43 

The  inquiry  was  adroitly  insinuated,  but  Blonay  was  not  to 
be  caught,  even  had  he  been  in  possession  of  the  desired  infor 
mation.  He  availed  himself  of  the  question,  however,  to  sug 
gest  another,  by  which,  had  his  companion  been  less  guarded, 
he  might  have  discovered'  to  which  party  he  belonged. 

"What  troops?"  he  asked,  carelessly. 

"  Why,  them  that  fights,  to  be  sure.  Troops,  if  I'm  rightly 
told,  is  them  men  that  rides  on  horseback,  and  fights  with 
swords  and  pistols,  and  the  big  cannon." 

"  Yes,  troopers,"  said  Blonay,  tired,,  seemingly,  of  putting 
questions  so  unprofitably  answered. 

"Ay — troopers,  is  it ? —  I  always  called  them  troops.  But 
you  a'n't  tell'd  me  if  they're  coming  in  these  parts.  You  a'n't 
seed  any  on  the  road,  I  reckon?  —  for  you  a'n't  hurt,  that  I 
can  see.  But,  may  be  you  out-travelled  'em  ;  they  shot  at 
you, though  ?" 

The  volubility  of  Thumbscrew  carried  him  so  rapidly  on  in 
his  assumptions,  that  it  was  with  difficulty  Blonay  kept  him 
self  sufficiently  reserved  in  his  communications.  He  was  at 
some  pains,  however,  to  assure  him  that  he  had  neither  seen 
any  troops,  nor  been  pursued,  nor  shot  at  by  them ;  that  his 
whole  journey  hitherto  had  been  unmarked  by  any  other  ad 
venture  of  more  importance  than  the  catching  of  the  single 
rabbit,  in  which  Thumbscrew  had  himself  so  largely  assisted. 
This  reference  drew  the  attention  of  Thumbscrew  to  the  rag 
ged  and  mean-looking  cur  that  followed  the  stranger.  He  ad 
mired  him  exceedingly,  and  at  length  proceeded  to  ask — 
"Won't  you  trade  him,  now,  stranger?  I  want  a  hunting-dog 
mightily." 

Blonay  declined,  and  was  so  pleased  and  satisfied  with  the 
simplicity  of  his  new  acquaintance,  that  he  ventured  to  ask 
some  direct  questions ;  taking  care,  however,  that  none  of 
them  should  convey  any  committal  of  his  sentiments.  He 
stated,  for  himself,  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  Black  river  and 
the  Santee ;  that  he  was  looking  after  a  person  who  was  in 
debted  to  him;  that  he  was  a  peaceable  man,  and  wanted  to 
get  on  without  fighting,  and  he  was  therefore  desirous  of  avoid 
ing  all  combatants  Tn  order  to  do  this,  he  would  like  te 


4:4 


SfELLlOIIAMl'K. 


know  when-  Gainey's  men  were  (lories),  and  Marion's  men-- 
if  they  were  likely  to  lie  in  his  way  by  pursuing  such  and 
such  routes,  all  of  which  he  named,  and  seemed  to  know,  ai.d 
how  he  should  best  avoid  them.  In  making  these  inquiries, 
Blonay  had  well  adopted  the  manner  of  one  solicitous  for 
peace,  and  only  desirous  of  getting  to  the  end  of  his  journey 
without  difficulty  or  adventure.  In  referring  to  the  different 
leaders  of  the  two  parties  in  that  section  of  country,  he  took 
especial  care,  at  the  same  time,  to  utter  no  word,  and  exhibit 
no  look  or  gesture,  which  could  convey  the  slightest  feeling 
of  partiality  or  preference,  on  his  part,  for  either;  and  all  that 
Thumbscrew  could  conjecture  from  the  inquiry,  supposing  that 
the  traveller  was  disguising  the  truth,  was,  that,  so  far  from 
his  wishing  to  avoid  all  of  these  parties,  by  obtaining  a  knowl 
edge  of  their  lurking-places,  he  was  rather  in  search  of  one  or 
the  other  of  them.  His  scrutiny  failed  uttered  when  he  strove 
to  find  out  which.  He  did  not  long  delay  to  answer  these 
inquiries,  which  he  did  in  the  unsatisfactory  fashion  of  all  the 
rest. 

"  Well,  now,  stranger,  you  ax  a  great  deal  more  than  I  have 
to  answer.  These  here  people  that  you  talk  about,  I  hear, 
every  day,  something  or  other  said  of  them,  but  nothing  very 
good,  uow,  either  way.  It's  now  one,  and  now  another  of 
them  that  shoots  the  poor  folk's  cattle,  and  maybe  shoots 
them  too,  and  there's  no  help  for  it.  Sometimes  Gainey's 
people  run  over  the  country,  burning  and  plundering  — then 
Marion's  men  comes  after,  burning  and  plundering  what's  left, 
So  that,  between  the  two,  honest,  quiet,  good-natured  sort  of 
people,  like  you  and  me,  stranger  — we  get  the  worst  of  it,  and 
must  cut  strap  and  take  the  brush,  rather  than  lose  life  with 
property.  It's  a  sad  time,  now,  stranger,  I  tell  you." 

"  But  you  ha'n't  heard  of  either  of  'em  in  these  parts  lately, 
have  you  1"  inquired  Blonay. 

"  Dang  it,  stranger,  they're  here,  there,  and  everywhere : 
they're  never  long  missing  from  any  one  place,  and  —  dang 
my  buttons!  —  I  think  I  hear  some  of  them  coming  now." 

Thumbscrew  turned  as  he  spoke,  and  appeared  to  listen. 
Sounds,  as  of  horses'  feet,  were  certainly  approaching,  and 


VOKKSil  IliK    VEKSUS    YOKKS11IRE.  4t> 

perceptible  to  Blonay  not  less  than  to  his  dog.  With  the  con 
firmation  of  his  conjecture,  the  woodman  turned  quickly  to  the 
forest  cover,  and,  shaking  his  head,  cried  to  his  companion,  as 
lie  bounded  into  its  depth  — 

"  Look  to  yourself,  stranger,  for,  as  sure  ae  a  gun,  some  of 
them  sodgers  is  a-coming.  They'll  shoot  you  through  the 
body,  and  chop  you  into  short  meat,  if  you  don't  cut  for  it." 

He  disappeared  on  the  instant,  but  not  in  flight.  His  pur 
pose  was  to  mislead  Blonay,  and  it  was  sufficient  for  this  that 
he  simply  removed  himself  from  sight.  Keeping  the  edge  of 
the  forest,  as  close  to  the  road  as  he  well  might,  to  avoid  dia- 
covery  from  it,  he  now  chose  himself  a  station  from  which  ho 
might  observe  the  approaching  horsemen,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  remain  in  safety.  This  done,  he  awaited  patiently  their 
approach.  Hi?  late  companion,  in  the  meanwhile,  whose 
policy  was  a  like  caution,  quickly  followed  the  suggestion  and 
example  of  the  woodman,  and  sank  into  the  forest  immediately 
opposite  that  which  the  latter  had  chosen  for  his  shelter. 
Here  he  imbowered  himself  in  the  woods  sufficiently  far  for 
concealment,  and,  hiding  his  horse,  and  placing  his  dog  in 
watch  over  him,  he  advanced  on  foot  within  a  stone's  cast  from 
the  road,  to  a  spot  commanding  a  good  view  of  everything 
upon  it.  Here,  in  deep  silence,  he  also  stood  —  a  range  of 
trees  between  his  person  and  that  of  the  approaching  horse 
men,  and  his  form  more  immediately  covered  by  the  huge  body 
of  a  pine,  from  behind  which  he  occasionally  looked  forth  in 
scrutinizing  watchfulness. 


MKLL1CHAMPE. 


CHAPTER   V. 
THE  TORY  SQUAD. 

TUB  two  watchers  bad  not  long  to  wait  in  their  several 
places  of  concealment  The  sound  which  had  disturbed  their 

nferencc,  and  sent  them  into  shelter,  drew  nigher  momen 
tarily,  and  a  small  body  of  mounted  men,  emerging  at  length 
trom  a  bend  in  the  irregu'ar  road  over  which  they  came  ap 
peared  in  sight.  They  were  clothed  in  the  rich,  gorgeous 

iform  of  the  British  army,  and   were  well-mounted.     Their 
number,  however,  did  not  exceed  thirty,  and  their  general  form 
f  advance  and  movement  announced  them  to  be  less  thought 
ful,  at  that  moment,  of  the  dangers  of  ambuscade  and  battle, 
than  of  the  pleasant  cheer  and  well-filled  larder  of  the  neio-h- 
boring  gentry.     Two  officers  rode  together,  in  advance  of  them 
some  little  distance,  and  the  free  style  of  their  conversation 
the  loud,  careless  tones  of  their  voices,  and  the  lounging,  indif 
ferent  manner  in  which   they  sat  upon   their  horses,  showed 
them  to   be,  if  not  neglectful   of  proper  precautions,  at   least 
perfectly  unapprehensive  of  any  enemy.     A  couple  of  large 
military  wagons,  drawn  each  by  four  able-bodied  horses,  ap 
peared   in  the  centre  of  the  cavalcade,  the  contents  of  which, 
no  doubt,  were  of  sufficient  importance  to  call  for  such  a  guard. 
iret  there  was  little  or  nothing  of  a  proper  military  discipline 
preserved  in  the  ranks  of  the  troop.     Following  the  example 
of  the  officers  who  commanded  them,  and  who  seemed,  from 
their  unrestrained  mirth,  to  be  engaged  in  the  discussion  of 
some  topic  particularly  agreeable  to  both,  the  soldiers  gave  a 
loose   to   the   playfullest  moods  — wild  jest   and  free  remark 
passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  they  spoke,  and  looked,  and 
laughed,  as  if  their  trade  was  not  suffering,  and  its  probable 


THE  .TORY    SQUAD. 


termination  a  bloody  death.  Their  merriment,  however,  as  it 
was  subdued,  hi  comparison  with  that  of  the  officers,  did  not  pro 
voke  their  notice  or  rebuke.  The  whole  party,  in  all  respects, 
seemed  one  fitted  out  for  the  purposes  of  pleasure  rather  than 
of  war.  Elated  by  the  recent  victories  of  Cornwallis  over 
Gates,  and  Tarlcton  over  Sumtcr,  together  with  the  supposed 
flight  of  Marion  into  North  Carolina,  and  the  dispersion  of  his 
partisans,  the  British  officers  had  foregone  much  of  that  severe, 
but  proper  discipline,  through  which  alone  they  had  already 
been  ahle  to  achieve  so  much.  The  commander  of  the  little 
troop  before  us  moved  on  with  as  much  indifference  as  if  ene 
mies  had  ceased  to  exist,  and  as  if  his  whole  business  now  was 
the  triumph  and  the  pageant  which  should  follow  successes  so 
complete. 

"  Gimini  !"  exclaimed  Thumbscrew,  as  he  beheld,  at  a  dis 
tance,  their  irregular  approach.  "Gimini!  if  the  major  was 
only  here  now,  jist  with  twenty  lads  only  —  twenty  would  do 
—  maybe  he  wouldn't  roll  them  redjackets  in  the  mud  !v 

The  close  approach  of  the  troop  silenced  the  further 
speculations  of  the  woodman,  and  he  crouched  among  tho 
ihrubbery,  silent  as  death,  but  watchful  of  every  movement, 
The  person  of  the  captain  who  commanded  them  was  rather 
remarkable  for  its  strength  than  symmetry.  He  was  a  man 
D£  brawn  and  muscle  —  of  broad  shoulders  and  considerable 
tieight.  His  figure  was  unwieldy,  however,  and,  though  a 
good,  he  was  not  a  graceful  horseman.  His  features  were  fine. 
but  inexpressive,  and  his  skin  brown  with  frequent  exposure. 
There  was  something  savage  rather  than  brave  in  the  expres 
sion  of  his  mouth,  and  his  nose,  in  addition  to  its  exceeding 
feebleness,  had  an  ugly  bend  inward  at  its  termination,  which 
-poke  of  a  vexing  and  querulous  disposition.  His  companion 
was  something  slenderer  in  hi"  person,  and  considerably  more 
youthful.  There  was  noth>i--  worthy  of  remark  in  his  ap 
pearance,  unless  it  be  that  he  was  greatly  given  to  laughter  — 
an  unprofitable  habit,  which  seemed  to  be  irresistible  and  con 
firmed  in  him,  and  vhkh  was  not  often  found  to  await  the 
proper  time  and  provocation.  He  appeared  of  a  thoughtless 
temper  — one  who  was  content,  with  the  surfaces  of  things,  and 


tS 


MELLICHAMPE. 


lid  not  disturb  the  waters  with  a  discontented  spirit,  seeking 
for  more  pleasure  than  the  surface  gave  him.     At  the  moment 
of  their   approach    the   good-humor   of  the   two   was   equally 
shared  between  them.     The  subject  upon  which  they  had  been 
conversing    appeared  to  have    been   productive    of   no  small 
decree  of  merriment   to  both,  and  of  much  undisguised  satis 
faction  to  the  elder,     lie  chuckled  with  uncontrollable  compla 
cency,  and,  long  after  the  laugh  of  his  companion  had  ceased, 
a  lurking  smile  hung  upon  his  lips,  that  amply  denoted  the  still 
lingering  thought  of  pleasure  in  his  mind.     Though  ignorant 
of  the   occasion  of  their  mirth  before,  we  may  now,  as  they 
approach,  hear  something  of  the  dialogue,  which  was  renewed 
after  a  brief  pause  between  them ;   and  which,  though  it  may 
.i.ot  unfold  to  us  the  secret  of  their  satisfaction,  may  at  leas! 
inform   us,  in  some  degree,  of  much  that  is  not  less  necessary 
lor  us  to  know.     The  pause  was  broken  by  the  younger  of  the 
two,  whose  deferential  and  conciliatory  manner,  while  it  spoke 
the  inferior,  was,  at  the  same  time,  dashed  with   a  phrase  of 
fireside  familiarity,  which  marked  the  intimacy  of  the  boon 
companion. 

"And  now,  Barsfield,  you  may  laugh  at  fortune  for  ever 
niter.  You  have  certainly  given  her  your  defiance,  and  have 
triumphed  over  her  aversion.  You  have  beaten  your  enemy, 
won  your  commission,  found  favor  in  the  sight  of  your  com 
mand  er,  and  can  now  sit  down  to  the  performance  of  a  nominal 
duty,  with  a  tine  plantation,  and  a  stout  force  of  negroes,  all 
at  your  command  and  calling  you  master.  By  St.  George  and 
the  old  dragon  himself,  I  should  be  willing  that  these  rebels 
should  denounce  me  too  as  a  tory,  and  by  any  other  nickname, 
for  rewards  like  these." 

"  They  may  call  me  so  if  they  think  proper,"  said  the  other, 
to  whom  the  last  portion  of  his  comrade's  remark  seemed  to  be 
scarcely  welcome ;  "  but,  by  God  !  they  will  be  wise  not  to  let 
me  hear  them.  I  have  had  that  name  given  me  once  already 

by  that  insolent  boy,  and  I  did  not  strike  him  down  for  it he 

may  thank  his  good  fortune  and  the  interposition  of  that  fellow 
Witherspoon,  that  I  did  not  — but  it  will  be  dangerous  for  any 
living  man  to  repeat  the  affront." 


THE    TOKY    SQUAD.  4:9 

"And  why  should  you  mind  it,  Barsfield  1"  responded  his 
companion.  "  It  can  do  you  no  mischief — the  term  is  perfectly 
innocuous.  It  breaks  no  skin  —  it  takes  away  no  fortune." 

"  No  !  but  it  sticks  to  a  man  like  a  tick,  and  worries  him  all 
his  life,"  said  the  other.  ' 

"Only  with  your  thin-skinned  gentry.  For  such  an  estate 
as  yours,  Barsfield,  they  might  he  licensed  to  call  me  by  any 
nickname  which  they  please." 

"  I  am  not  so  indulgent,  Lieutenant  Clayton,"  replied  the 
other;  "and,  let  me  tell  you  that  you  don't  know  the  power 
of  a  nickname  among  eri3r»ioc.  A  nickname  is  an  argument, 
and  one  of  that  sort  too,  that,  afi ,3?:  cncc  hearing  it,  the  vulgar 
are  sure  n67cr  to  listen  tc  any  other.  It  has  been  of  no  small 
influence  already  in  this  s.imc  war — avid  it  will  he  of  greater 
effect  toward  th3  conclusion,  If  it  should  ever  so  happen  that 
the  war  eho!ild  terminate.  y.nf*vf;rably  to  the  arms  of  his  maj 
esty." 

"But  you  don't  think  any  such  result  possible?"  was  the 
immediate  reply  of  CUyt" .-?., 

"No —  not  new.  Tiii'.  last  licking  of  Sumter,  and  the 
wholesale  defeat  of  Gatos-  have  pretty  well  done  up  the  rebels 
in  this  quarter.  Georgia  has  been  long  shut  up,  and  North 
Carolina  will  only  wake  up  to  find  her  legs  fastened.  As  for 
Virginia,  if  Cornwallis  goes  on  at  the  present  rate,  he'll  strad 
dle  her  quite  in  two  weeks  more.  No  !  I  think  that  rebellion 
is  pretty  nigh  wound  up  ;  and,  if  we  can  catch  the  '  swamp  fox,' 
or  find  out  where  lie  hides,  I'll  contrive  that  we  shall  have  no 
more  difficulty  from  him." 

"  Let  that  once  take  place,"  replied  his  companion,  "  and 
you  mity  then  retire  comfortably,  in  the  enjoyment  of  the 
ctium  cum  digniiatc,  the  reward  of  hard  fighting  and  good 
generalship,  to  the  shady  retreats  of  '  Kaddipah.'  By-the- 
w«y,  Barsfield,  you  must  change  that  name  to  something  mod 
ern —  something  English.  I  hate  these  abominable  Indian 
names  —  they  arc  so  uncouth,  and  so  utterly  harsh  and  foreign 
in  an  English  ear.  We  must  look  up  a  good  name  for  your 
Ktflement." 

"  You    mistake.      I  would    not    change    the  name  for  the 


50  MELLICHAMT'E. 

world.  I  have  always  known  the  place  by  that  name,  long 
before  I  ever  thought  to  call  it  mine  ;  and  the  name  sounds 
sweet  in  my  ears.  Besides  I  like  these  Indian  names,  of  which 
you  so  much  complain.  They  sound  well,  and  are  always 
musical." 

"  They  are  always  harsh  to  me,  and  then  they  have  no 
meaning — none  that  we  know  anything  about." 

"  And  those  we  employ  have  as  little.  They  are  generally 
borrowed  from  individuals  who  were  their  proprietors,  and  thii? 
is  the  case  with  our  Indian  names,  which  have  the  advantage 
in  softness  and  enphas'.c.  No.!  'K^ddipah  Thicket'  shall  not 
lose  its  old  name  ;r.  gaining  ?.  :iC7/  owner.  It  wouldn't  look 
to  me  half  so  bea\itiful  if  I  were  to  give  it  any  other.  I  have 
rambled  over  its  woods  wlien  a  boy,  and  hunted  through  them 
when  a  man,  man  and  boy,  for  thirty  yaars  —  known  all  its 
people,  and  the  name  ceems  to  113  a  kistoiy,  and  brings  to  me 
a  whole  world  of  reccliect'.cns,  Vnhh  I  should  be  apt  to  lose 
were  I  to  change  it.'* 

"  Some  of  them,  Barsfiald,  it  ap'osars  to  me  i-hat  you  should 
prefer  to  lose.  The  insult  of  o!d  Mellichampe,  for  example." 

"I  revenged  it!"  wtc  Ins  reply,  quickly  and  gloomily 
uttered.  "  I  revenged  it  in  his  blood,  and  the  debt  is  paid." 

"  But  the  co.i  1  did  you  not,  only  now,  complain  of  him  also  ? 
did  he,  not  csJ.l  you *' 

"  Tory  !  I'll  finish  the  oantence  for  you,  as  I  would  rather, 
if  the  word  is  to  be  repeated  in  my  ears,  have  the  utterance  to 
myself.  You  are  an  Englishman,  and  the  name  does  not, 
and  can  not  be  made  to  apply  to  you  here,  and  you  can  not 
understand,  therefore,  the  force  of  its  application  from  one 
American  to  another !  He  called  me  a  tory  '  denounced,  le- 
fied;  and  struck  at  me,  and  I  would  have  slain  him  —  ay,  even 
in  the  halls  which  are  henceforward  to  call  me  master  —  >.r.t 
that  I  was  held  back  by  others,  whose  prudence,  perhaps,  saved 
the  lives  of  both  of  us ;  for  the  strife  would  have  been  pell-mell, 
and  that  fellow  Witherspoon,  who  was  the  overseer  of  old 
Mellichampe,  had  a  drawn  knife  ready  over  my  shoulder,  at 
the  moment  that  mine  was  lifted  at  the  breast  of  the  insolent 
youngster.  But  this  is  a  long  story,  and  you  already  krow  it. 


THE   TOBY    SQUAD.  51 

I  have  been  revenged  on  the  father,  and  have  my  debt  against 
the  son.  That  shall  be  cancelled  also,  in  due  course  of 
Hrae." 

"  And  where  is  the  youngster  now,  Barsfield  ]  Have  you  any 
knowledge  of  his  movements  1" 

"  None.  His  mother  has  fled  to  the  Santee,  where  she  is 
sheltered  by  Watson.  But  of  the  son  I  know  nothing.  He 
is  not  with  her,  that's  certain  ;  for  Evans,  whom  I  sent  off  in 
that  direction  as  a  sort  of  scout  and  watch  over  her,  reports 
that  he  has  not  yet  made  his  appearance." 

"He  must  be  out  with  Marion,  then?"  was  the  suggestion 
of  the  other. 

'  We  shall  soon  see  that,  for  our  loyalists  are  all  ready  and 
earnest  for  a  drive  after  the  '  fox  ;'  and  itwilj  be  a  close  swamp 
that  will  keep  him  away  from  hunters  such  as  ours.  These 
arms  will  provide  two  hundred  of  them,  and  we  have  full  that 
number  ready  to  volunteer.  In  a  week  more  I  hope  to  give  a 
good  account  of  his  den,  and  all  in  it." 

While  this  dialogue  was  going  on,  the  speakers  continued 
to  approach  the  spot  where  Thumbscrew  lay  in  hiding.  It 
was  not  long,  as  they  drew  nigh,  before  he  distinguished  the 
person  of  Barsfield,  and  a  fierce  emotion  kindled  in  his  eye  as 
he  looked  out  from  his  shelter  upon  the  advancing  figure  of  the 
successful  tory.  His  whole  frame  seemed  agitated  with  the 
quickening  rush  of  the  warm  blood  through  his  veins  —  his 
teeth  were  gnashed  for  a  moment  fiercely,  and,  freeing  a  way 
through  the  bushes  for  his  rifle-muzzle,  in  the  first  gush  of  his 
excited  feelings,  he  lifted  the  deadly  weapon  to  his  eye, 
brought  back  the  cock  with  the  utmost  precaution,  avoiding 
any  unnecessary  click,  and  prepared  to  plant  the  fatal  bullet 
in  the  head  of  the  unconscious  victim.  But  the  tory  rode  by 
unharmed.  A  gentler,  or,  at  least,  a  more  prudent  feeling, 
got  the  better  of  the  woodman's  momentary  mood  of  passion  • 
and,  letting  the  weapon  fall  quietly  into  the  hollow  of  his  arm, 
he  muttered  in  a  low  tone  to  himself — 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet  —  let  him  pass  —  let  him  git  on  as  he  can. 
It  ain't  time  yet  —  he  must  have  a  little  more  swing  for  it  be 
fore  I  bring  him,  for  'tain't  God's  pleasure  that  I  should  drop 


52  MKLLICIIAMl'E. 

him  now.  I  don't  feel  like  it,  and  so  I  know  *t  can't  be,  rig  , 
It's  a  cold-blooded  thing,  and  looks  too  much  like  murder; 
land,  God  help  me,  it  ain't  come  to  that  yet,  for  Jack  Wither- 
spoon  to  take  it  out  of  his  enemy's  hide  without  giving  him 
fair  play  for  it.  Let  him  go  —  let  him  go.  Ride  on,  Barsfield  ; 
the  bullet's  to  be  run  yet  that  bothers  you." 

And,  thus  muttering  to  himself,  the  woodman  beheld  his 
victim  pass  by  him  in  safety,  his  troop  and  wagons  following. 
He  was  about  to  turn  away  and  seek  his  comrade  in  the  wood, 
when  he  saw  his  travelling  acquaintance,  Blonay,  emerge 
from  the  opposite  quarter,  and  place  himself  before  the  British 
officers.  This  movement  at  once  satisfied  the  doubts  of  Thumb 
screw  as  to  the  politics  of  the  low-countryman. 

"  As  I  thought,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  the  fellow's  a  skunk, 
and  a  monstrous  sly  one.  He  knows  how  to  badger,  and  can 
beat  the  bush  like  a  true  scout.  It's  a  God's  pity  that  a  fel 
low  that  has  good  qualities  like  that,  shouldn't  have  soul 
enough  to  be  an  honest  man.  But  no  matter  —  pay-day  will 
come  for  all;  and  Truth  will  fcave  to  wait  in  the  swamp  till 
Cunning  can  go  help  her  out." 

Thus  moralizing,  the  woodman  went  back  from  his  hiding- 
place,  and  soon  joined  his  now  impatient  companion. 

Blonay,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 
the  British  party.  Confirmed  by  their  uniform,  he  boldly  ad 
vanced,  and  presented  himself  before  the  captain. 

"Who  the  devil  are  you?"  was  the  uncourteous  salutation. 

A  grin  and  a  bow,  with  a  few  mumbled  words,  was  the  sort 
of  reply  manifested  by  the  half-breed,  who  followed  up  this 
overture  by  the  presentation  of  the  passport  furnished  by  Proc 
(or.  Barsfield  read  the  scroll,  and  threw  it  back  to  him. 

"  And  so  you  are  going  our  way,  I  see  by  your  paper.  It  is 
well  —  you  will  prefer,  then,  falling  in  with  us,  and  taking  our 
protection  ?" 

Blonay  bowed  assent,  and  muttered  his  acknowledgments. 

"  And,  perhaps,"  continued  the  tory  captain,  "  as  you  are  a 
true  friend  to  his  majesty's  cause,  you  will  not  object  to  a 
drive  into  the  swamps  along  with  us  after  these  men  of  Marion, 
who  are  thought  to  be  lurking  about  here?" 


THE   TOBY    SQUAD.  53 

The  half-breed  gave  his  ready  assurance  of  a  perfect  will 
ingness  to  do  so. 

"  Well  said,  my  friend  ;  and  now  tell  us,  Mr.  Blonay,  what 
have  been  your  adventures  upon  the  road  ?  What  have  yor> 
seen  deserving  of  attention  since  you  caine  into  this  neighbor 
hood?" 

The  person  addressed  did  not  fail  to  relate  all  the  particul 
ars  of  his  meeting,  but  a  little  before,  with  the  woodman,  as 
the  reader  has  already  witnessed  it.  Barsfield  listened  with 
some  show  of  attention,  and  only  interrupted  the  narrator  to 
ask  for  a  description  of  the  stranger's  person.  This  was  given, 
me!  l;.rid  the  effect  of  producing  an  expression  of  earnest  thought 
hi  llie  countenance  of  the  listener. 

"Very  large,  you  bay  —  broad  about  the  shoulders?  And 
you  s;iy  he  went  into  this  wood  ?" 

"  Off  there,  cappin,  close  on  to  them  bays,  and  in  them 
bushes?" 

Barsfield  looked  over  inf"  the  "luck-set  and  seemingly 
impervious  ibi-sot,  and  sav  at  a  glance  how  doubtful  and 
difficult  7<rould  03  the  pursuit,  In  suJi  a  place,  even  were 
the  object  irr.pcrtant,  of  a  single  man.  After  a  momentary 
pause  of  r.ctnn  ?.~>.d  speech,  no  gave  orders  suddenly  to  move 
on  in  the  pain  tlis/  were  pffsuing.  rJ?aking  the  direction  of 
his  fir. £3r,  Blonay  fell  beh'rid  and  TT&Z  soon  mingled  in  with 
the 'party  that  followed. 

"You  shall  s-30,  my  falv  neighbor/1  aai'i  the  tory  captain  to 
his  compnnion,  v/hen  the  paty  resume:!  its  progress,  as  if  in 
•  continuation  of  the  previous  discourse  ;  ''  3Jue  is  as  beautiful  and 
young,  Clayton,  as  she  is  pure  and  intellectual.  She  is  the  prize, 
dearer  and  richer  than  ail  of  my  previous  attainment,  for 
which  I  would  freely  sacrifice  them  all.  You  shall  see  her,  and 
swear  to  what  1  have  said." 

"You  will  make  her  your  own  soon,  then,  I  Imagine/'  said* 
the  other,  "  esteeming  her  so  highly." 

"If  I  can  —  be  sure  of  it,"  responded  Barsrnla.  "I  will 
try  devilish  hard  for  it,  I  assure  you;  and  it  will  bo  devilish 
hard,  indeed,  if,  with  a  fine  plantation,  and  no  little  power  — 
with  a  person  which,  though  not  superb,  13  at  least  passable" 


iii 


5-1  MKLI.SCII  A.Mi'h. 

—  an  1  the  speaker  looked  down  upon  his  own  bulky  frame 
with  some  complacency  —  "  it  will  be  devilish  hard,  I  say,  if  I 
do  not  try  successfully.  Her  old  father,  too,  Avill  back  me  to 
the  utmost,  for  he  is  devilish  scary,  and,  being  a  good  loyalist, 
is  very  anxious  to  have  a  son-in-law  who  can  protect  his 
catllci  from  the  men  of  Marion.  They  have  half  frightened 
already  into  consent,  and  have  thus  done  me  much  more 
than  they  ever  intended." 

"  But  your  maiden  herself,  the  party  chiefly  concerned  ?" 
.^aid  Clayton,  inquiringly. 

"  She  lights  shy,  and  does  not  seem  over-earnest  to  listen  to 
my  courtier  speeches;  but  she  is  neither  stern  nor  unapproach 
able,  and,  when  she  replies  to  me,  it  is  always  gently  and 
sweetly." 

"  Then  she  is  safe,  be  sure  of  it,"  was  the  sanguine  response 
of  the  other. 

"Not  sc,"  rjcid  the  more  cagasious  Barsfield,  "not  so.  I 
am  not  so  well  satisfied  that  because  she  is  gentle  she  will  be 
yielding.  She  c'.u  cict  bo  otiierwiss  than  gentle  —  she  can  not 
speak  otherwise  than  sweetly,  even  though  her  words  be  those 
of  denial.  I  'would  rath  31  a  cursed  sight  that  she  should  wince 
H  little,  and  aemblo  when  I  talk  to  her;  for  then  I  should 
know  that  she-,  was  moved  with  *i  interest  one  way  or  the 
other.  Your  cool,  composed  sort  of  woman,  is  not  to  be  sur 
prised  into  any  foolish  weakness.  They  must  listen  long,  and 
liko  to  listen,  before  you  can  do  anything  with  them.  But  you 
shall  ;C5  liar  soon  for  here  her  father's  fields  commence.  A 
fine  clearing,  you  see,  and  the  old  buck  is  tolerably  well  off- 
works  SCUM-  <li^hty  hands,  and  has  a  stock  that  would  fit  out  u 
dozen  Scotch  graziers." 

Thus  discussing  the  hopes  and  expectations  which  mala 
ill*;-,  aim  and  being  of  the  dissolute  adventurer,  they  pricked 
their  *vay  onward  with  all  speed,  to  the  dwelling  of  those  who 
wa.ri  lo  be  the  anticipated  victims. 


THE    PLOT   THICKENS. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    PLOT    THICKENS. 

SLOWLY,  and  with  an  expression  of  sorrow  in  his  counte 
nance,  corresponuing  witli  the  uuelastic  and  measured  move 
ment  of  his  body,  Thumbscrew  took  his  way  back  to  the  hollow 
where  he  had  left  his  more  youthful  companion. 

44  Well,  what  nave  you  seen  to  keep  you  so  long,  Thumb- 
acre  w  ?"  was  the  impatient  inquiry  of  the  youth.  The  answer 
of  the  woodman  to  this  interrogatory  was  hesitatingly  uttered, 
a  BO.  he  first  deliberately  told  of  his  encounter  with  Blonay,  and 
the  nature  of  the  unsatisfactory  dialogue  which  had  taken 
place  between  them.  He  dwelt  upon  the  cunning  with  which 
the  other  bad  kept  his  secret  during  the  conference  ;  "  but  I 
found  him  out  at  last,"  said  he,  "  and  now  I  knows  him  to  be 
a  skunk  — a  reg'lar  built  tory,  as  I  mought  ha'  known  from  the 
first. moment  1  laid  eyes  on  him." 

«  Well — and  where  is  he  now,  and  how  did  you  discover 
this?"  was  the  inquiry  of  the  other. 

This  inquiry  necessarily  unfolded  the  intelligence  concern 
ing  the  troop  of  horse,  whose  number,  wagons,  and  equipments, 
lie  gave  with  all  the  circurnspectness  and  fidelity  of  an  able 
scout ;  and  this  done,  he  was  silent  ;  with  the  air,  however,  of 
one  who  has  yet  something  to  unfold. 

"But  who  commanded  them,  Thumbscrew'?" asked  the  other, 
"and  what  appeared  to  be  their  object?  You  are  strangely 
limited  in  your  intelligence,  and,  at  this  rate,  will  hardly 
justify  the  eulogy  of  Major  Singleton,  who  considers  you  ths 
very  best  scout  in  the  brigade.  Can  you  tell  us  nothing  more  1 
What  sort  of  cauUin  had  they  T 


66  M 

"A  stout  fellow,  quite  as  broad,  but  not  so  tall  as  me,  \v\i\i 
a  skin  brown,  like  mine^  as  a  berry  ;  a  hook  nose,  and  a  mouth 
more  like  the  chop  of  a  broad-axe  than  anything  else." 

lie  paused,  and  the  eyes  of  the  scout  and  those  of  his 
young-  comrade  met.  There  was  a  quickening  apprehension 
of  the  truth  in  those  of  Mellichampe,  which  made  them  kindle 
with  successive  flashes,  while  his  mouth,  partaking  of  the  sain.: 
influence,  quivered  convulsively,  as,  bending  forward  to  hie 
more  sedate  companion,  he  demanded,  with  a  stern,  brief 
manner  — 

"  You  are  not  speaking  of  Barsfieid,  surely?" 

"I  an? --that's  the  critter,  or  I'm  no  Christian," 

The  youth  eeizsd  his  rifle  as  he  replied  —  "Aid  yen  shot 
him  noi;  down  !  you  suffered  him  to  pass  you  in  r^.fety  !  my 
father's  blood  yet  upon  his  L«.._ds —  unavenged  —  and  he  going 
now,  doubtless,  to  reap  the  reward  of  his  erl.ne  and  perfidy  ! 
But  he  can  not  have  gone  far.  He  must  b3  yet  within  reach, 
and,  by  the  Eternal  !  he  shall  not  escape  me  now.  Hold  me 
not  back,  Thumbscrew — hold  me  not  back  !  I  deem  you  no 
friend  of  mine  that  suffered  the  wretch  to  pass  on  in  safety, 
and  I  shall  deem  you  still  less  my  friend  if  you  labor  to  re 
strain  me  now.  Hold  me  not,  I  tell  you,  Witherspoou,  or  it 
will  be  worse  for  you." 

The  youth,  as  he  spoke,  leaped  upon  his  feet  in  a  convulsion 
of  passion,  that  seemed  to  set  at  defiance  all  restraint.  His 
eyes,  that  before  had  sent  forth  only  irregular  flashes  of  light 
and  impulse,  were  now  fixed  in  a  steady,  unmitigated  flame, 
that  underwent  no  change.  Not  so  his  lips,  which  quivered 
and  paled  more  fitfully  than  ever.  He  strove  earnestly  with 
his  strong-limbed  comrade,  who  had  grasped  him  firmly  with 
the  first  ebullition  of  that  passion  which  he  seemed  to  have 
anticipated. 

"  What  would  you  do,  Airnest  ?  don't  be  foolish  now,  I  beg 
you  ;  running  your  head  agin  a  pine  knot  that  you  can't  swal 
low.  It's  all  foolishness  to  go  on  so,  and  can  do  no  good.  As 
to  shooting  that  skunk,  I  couldn't  and  wouldn't  do  it,  though 
I  had  the  muzzle  up,  and  it  was  a  sore  temptation,  Aiiaest ; 
for  I  remembered  the  old  man,  and  his  white  hair,  ap4  if 


THE    PLOT   THICKENS.  57 

before  my  eyes  jist  like  a  picture,  as  I  seed  it  last  when  it 
was  thickened  together  with  his  own  blood." 

"  Yet  you  could  remember  all  this,  and  suffer  his  murderer 
to  escape  ?"  reiterated  the  other. 

"  Yes !  for  it  goes  agin  the  natur  of  an  honest  man  to  bite  a 
man  with  cold  bullet,  when  the  t'other  a'n't  on  his  guard  agin 
it.  I'll  take  a  shot  any  day  with  Barsfield,  man  to  man,  or 
where  a  fight's  going  on  with  a  hundred,  but,  by  dogs  !  I  can't 
lie  at  the  roadside,  under  a  sapling,  and  send  a  bullet  at  him 
onawares,  as  he's  riding  down  the  trace.  It's  an  Injen  way, 
and  it's  jist  as  bad  as  any  murder  I've  ever  hearn  tell  of  their 
doing.  No,  no,  Airnest;  there's  a  time  coining  !  as  I  may  say, 
the  day  of  judging  them's  at  hand  ;  for  here,  you  see,  is  this 
chap,  going  down  now,  snug  and  easy,  with  a  small  handful 
of  troops,  to  take  possession  of  Kaddipah.  Let  him  set  down 
quietly  till  the  '  fox'  gets  up  his  men,  and  I'll  lay  you  what  you 
please  we  git  our  satisfaction  out  of  him  by  fair  fight.  We'll 
smoke  him  out  of  his  hole  'fore  Sunday  next,  if  I'm  not  mon- 
i-trous  wide  in  my  calkilation." 

"  And  where  is  the  difference  between  shooting  him  now 
and  shooting  him  then  1  I  see  none.  Release  me,  Mr.  With- 
erspoon,"  cried  the  other,  his  anger  now  beginning  to  turn 
upon  the  tenacious  Thumbscrew,  who  held  upon  his  body  with 
a  grasp  that  set  at  defiance  all  his  efforts.  In  the  next  moment 
he  was  released,  as  he  had  desired,  and,  with  a  deference  of 
manner,  a  subdued  and  even  sadder  visage,  the  countryman 
addressed  the  youth  :  — 

'  You're  gitting  into  a  mighty  passion,  Airnest,  and,  what's 
worse,  you're  gitting  in  a  passion  with  me,  that  was  your  friend 
and  your  father's  friend,  ever  since  I  kncw'd  you  both,  though; 
to  be  sure,  I  never  could  do  much  for  either  of  you  in  the  way 
of  friendship." 

"  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  Witherspoon ;  only,  I  am  no 
child,  to  be  restrained  after  this  fashion.  I  know  you  are  my 
friend,  and  God  knows  I  have  too  few  now  to  desire  the  loss  of 
any  one  of  them — and  particularly  of  one  who,  like  yourself, 
has  clung  to  me  in  all  trials  ;  but  there  is  a  certain  boundary 
beyond  which  one's  best  friend  has  no  right  to  go." 


"  Oh,  yes  !  I  understand  all  tliat,  Airncst.  I'm  your  friend 
BO  long  as  I  don't  think  or  act  contrary  to  your  thinking  and 
acting.  Xo\v,  to  my  thinking,  that's  a  bargain  that  will  only 
answer  Cor  one  side,  and  I  never  yet  made  a  bargain  in  my 
lii'e  under  them  sort  of  tarms.  If  I  sells  a  horse  or  buys  one, 
I  does  it  because  I  thinks  there'll  be  some  sort  of  benefit  or 
gain  to  myself.  I  don't  want  to  take  onduc  advantage  of  the 
other  man,  but  I  expects  to  git  as  good  as  I  gives.  That's  the 
trade  for  me  ;  whether  it  be  a  horse  that  I  trades,  or  my 
good  word  and  the  heart,  rough  or  gentle,  all  the  same,  that 
I  bring  to  barter  with  my  friend.  When  I  makes  sich  a  trade, 
I  can't  stand  and  see  the,  man  I  trade  with  making  light  of 
the  article  I  gives  him.  If  it's  my  friendship  and  good  word, 
he  mustn't  make  them  a  sort  of  plaything,  to  sport  which  way 
he  pleases  ;  and,  so  long  as  I  say  I'm  his  friend,  he  shaVt 
butt  a  tree  if  I  can  keep  his  head  from  it,  though  I  have  tc 
take  main  force  to  hold  him  in.  On  them  same  tarms,  .Ail- 
nest,  I  stood  by  the  old  'squire,  your  father,  when  he  got 
into  difficulties  about  the  line  of  his  land  with  Ilitchin^ham  : 

o 

when  the  two  got  all  their  friends  together,  and  foul,  as  one 
may  say,  like  so  many  tiger-cats,  along  the  rice-dam,  for  two 
long  hours  by  sun.  You've  hearn  tell  of  that  excursion,  I'm 
thinking.  That  was  a  hard  brush,  and  I  didn't  skulk  like  a 
skunk  then,  as  they  will  all  tell  you  that  seed  it.  But  that 
worn't  the  only  time ;  there  was  others,  more  than  a  dozen  beside 
that,  and  all  jist  as  tough,  when  Thumbscrew  hung  on  to  the 
'squire,  as  if  he  was  two  other  legs  and  arms  of  the  same  body, 
and  nobody  could  touch  tire  one  without  touching  the  other. 
Then  came  that  scrape  with  Barsfield  ;  and  now  I  tell  you, 
Airnest,  it  worn't  a  murder,  as  you  calls  it,  but  a  fair  light, 
for  both  the  parties  was  fairly  out  ;  and,  though  the  old 
'squire,  your  father,  was  surprised,  and  not  on  his  proper 
guard,  yet  it  was  a  fair-play  fight,  and  sich  as  comes  about,  as 
I  may  say,  naturally,  in  all  our  skrimmages  with  the  tories. 
They  licked  us  soundly,  to  be  sure,  'cause  they  had  the  most 
men  ;  but  we  fout  'em  to  the  last,  and  'twas  a  fair  fight  from 
the  jump." 


5'J 

4<  And  what  of  all  this,  now  — why  do  you  repeat  this  to  me 
here?"  said  the  other,  with  no  little  imperiousness. 

"  Why,  you  see,  only  to  show  you,  Airnest,  as  a  sort  of  ex 
cuse  and  apology  for  what  I  did  in  trying  to  keep  you  from 
going  after  Barsfield — " 

"Apology,  Witherspoon  !"  exclaimed  the  other. 
"Yes,  Airnest,  apology —  that's  the  very  word  I  makes  use 
of.  •  I  jist  wanted  to  show  you  the  reason  why  I  tuk  the  lib 
erty  of  trying  to  keep  an  old  friend's  son  out  of  harm's  way, 
that's  all.  I  promise  you,  Airnest,  I  won't  make  you  angry 
agin,  though  I  don't  see  yet  the  harm  of  liking  a  body  so  much 
as  to  do  the  best  for  'em." 

The  woodman  turned  away  as  he  spoke,  lifted  his  rifle,  and 
seemed  busy  in  rubbing  the  stock  of  it  with  the  sleeve  of  his 
hunting-shirt.  The  youth  seemed  touched  by  this  simple  ex 
hortation.  Without  a  word  he  approached  his  unsophisticated 
companion,  whose  face  was  turned  from  him,  and  placing  his 
hand  affectionately,  with  a  gentle  pressure,  upon  his  shoulder, 
thus  addressed  him  : — 

"  Forgive  me,  Jack  — I  was  wrong.  iVgive  me,  and  forget 
it.  I  am  rash,  foolish,  obstinate  — it's  my  fault,  I  know,  to  be 
so,  and  I  try  to  control  my  disposition,  always,  when  I'm  with 
you.  You  know  I  would'nt  hurt  your  feelings  for  the  world. 
I  know  you  love  me,  Jack,  as  if  I  were  your  own  brother ;  and 
believe  me,  my  old  friend  —  my  father's  friend  —  believe  me, 
I  love  you  fully  as  much.  Say,  now,  that  you  forgive  me  — 
do  say  !" 

"  Dang  my  eyes !  Airnest,  but,  by  the  powers !  you  put  it 
to  me  too  hard  sometimes.  Jist  when  I'm  doing  the  best,  or 
trying  to  do  the  best,  you  plump  head  over  heels  into  my  teeth, 
and  I'm  forced  to  swallow  my  own  doings.  It  a'n't  right  —  it 
•a'n't  kind  of  you,  Airnest;  and,  dang  it,  boy,  I  don't  see  why 
I  should  keep  trying  to  do  for  you,  to  git  no  thanks,  and  little 
better  than  curses  for  it.  I'm  sure  I  gits  nothing  by  sticking 
to  you  through  thick  and  thin." 

Half  relenting,  and  prefacing  his  yielding  mood  only  by  this 
outward  coating  of  obduracy,  the  woodman  thus  received  the 
overtures  of  his  .companion,  who  was  as  ready  to  melt  witr 


60 


MELLICHAMPE. 


generous  emotion  as  he  was  to  seek  for  strife  under  a  fierce 
and  impetuous  one.  The  youth  half  turned  away  as  the  lattei 
reply  met  his  ears,  and,  removing  his  hand  from  the  shoulder 
where  it  had  rested,  with  a  freezing  tone  and  proud  manner, 
he  replied,  while  appearing  to  withdraw  — 

"  It  is  indeed  time,  Mr.  Witherspoon,  that  company  should 
part,  when  one  reproaches  the  other  with  his  poverty.  You 
certainly  have  said  truly,  that  you  have  nothing  to  gain  by 
clinging  to  me  and  mine." 

"Oh,  Airnest,  boy  —  but  that's  too  much,"  he  cried,  leaping 
round  and  seizing  the  youth's  hands,  Avhile  he  pressed  his 
eyes,  now  freely  suffused,  down  upon  them.  "  I  <lidn't  mean 
that,  Airnest,  I'm  all  over  foolish  to-day,  and  done  nothing  but 
harm.  It  was  so  from  morning's  first  jump ;  I've  been  fooling 
and  blundering  like  a  squalling  hen  in  an  old  woman's  cup 
board.  Push  me  on  one  side,  I'm  sure  to  plump  clear  to  the 
other  end,  break  all  the  cups  and  dishes,  and  fly  in  the  old 
wife's  face,  before  I  can  git  out.  It's  your  turn  to  forgive  me, 
Airnest,  and  don't  say  that  we  must  cut  each  other.  God  help 
me,  Airnest,  if  I  was  to  dream  of  sich  a  thing,  I'm  sure  your 
father's  sperrit  would  haunt  me,  with  his  white  hair  sticking 
all  fast  with  blood,  and — " 

"No  more,  Jack,  old  fellow,  let  us  talk  no  more  of  that,  but 
sit  down  here,  and  say  what  we  are  to  do  now  about  that  rep 
tile,  Barsiield." 

Bless  you,  Airnest,  what  can  we  do  till  the  '  fox'  whistles  ? 
We'll  have  news  for  him  to-morrow,  and  must  only  see  where 
Barsfield  goes  to-night,  and  larn  what  we  can  of  what  he's 
going  to  do.  I  suspect  that  them  wagons  have  got  a  plenty 
of  guns  and  bagnets,  shot  and  powder  for  the  tories  j  and  if  so, 
there'll  be  a  gathering  of  them  mighty  soon  in  this  neighbor 
hood.  We  shall  see  some  of  the  boys  to-morrow  —  Humphries 
and  '  Roaring  Dick'  ride  on  this  range,  and  we  may  hear  their 
whistle  in  the  '  Bear  Brake'  before  morning." 

"  We  must  meet  them  there,  then,  one  or  other  of  us  certainly. 
In  the  meantime,  as  you  say,  we  must  trail  this  Barsfield 
closely,  and  look  where  he  sleeps,  since  you  will  not  let  me 
shoot  him." 


THE    PLOT    TIIIOKKNS.  . 

"And  where's  the  use  ?  I  could  ha'  put  the  bullet  through 
his  skull  to-day,  but  the  next  moment  the  dragoons  would  have, 
made  small  work  of  a  large  man.  They'd  ha'  chopped  me 
into  mince-meat.  There's  no  difficulty  in  killing  one,  but  small 
chance  to  git  away  after  it,  when  there's  so  many  of  them  upon 
you;  and,  as  I  said  afore,  this  shooting  a  man  from  the  bush 
unawares,  when  he's  travelling  in  quiet,  looks  too  much  like 
cold-blooded  Ingin  murder,  it's  like  scalping  and  tomahawk. 
Give  the  enemy  a  fair  field,  says  I,  though  it  be  but  a  bow 
logged  nigger  that's  running  from  you  in  the  swamp." 

And,  thus  conferring,  the  two  followed  the  route  pursued  by 
Rarsfield  and  his  party,  until  the  shades  of  evening  gathered 
Leavily  around  them. 


MELUCHAMPB. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

PINEY    GROVE. 

THE  British  trooperc,  meanwhile,  pursued  their  jouriiuf. 
With  an  Inimility  that  knew  its  place,  Blonay  followed  with 
the  hindmost,  and  showed  no  annoyance,  though  exposed  to 
the  continual  and  coarse  jests  of  those  about  him.  He  was  be 
comingly  indifferent,  as  he  seemed  perfectly  insensible.  The 
termination  of  the  day's  journey  was  at  length  at  hand.  The 
zigzag  fences  rose  upon  both  sides  of  the  road.  The  negro 
settlement,  some  thirty  or  forty  log-dwellings,  forming  a  square 
to  themselves,  and  each  with  its  little  enclosure,  well  stocked 
with  pigs,  poultry,  and  the  like,  came  in  sight;  and  beyond, 
the  eager  eye  of  Barsfield  distinguished,  while  his  hand  pointed 
out  to  his  companion,  the  fine  old  avenue,  long,  overgrown,  and 
beautifully  winding,  which  led  to  the  mansion-house  of  the 
Berkeley  family. 

"There,"  said  lie,  "is  'Piney  Grove'  —  such  ;s  the  name  of 
the  estate*  a  narm  vYc  it  p  ;.  ^erly  takjs  fbom  the  avenue 
which  loads  to  it,  the  chief  growth  of  which,  as  you  will  see, 
is  the  field-pine.  You  will  not  see  nuiny  like  it  in  the  country." 

The  troop  halted  at  the  entrance,  which  was  soon  thrown 
open ;  and,  narrowing  the  form  of  their  advance,  they  were  in 
a  moment  after  hurrying  along  the  shady  passage  which  led 
to  the  hospitable  dwelling.  Barsfield  had  said  rightly  to  his 
companion  :  there  were  not  many  avemr-"?  in  the  country  like 
that  which  they  now  pursued.  A  beautiiul  and  popular  fea 
ture,  generally,  in  all  the  old  country-estates  of  Carolina,  the 
avenue  in  question  was  yet  of  peculiar  design.  Tn  the  lower 
regions,  where  the  spreading  and  ponderous  live-oak  present?* 


PINKY    GROVK.  63 

itself  vigorously  and  freely,  and  seems  by  its  magnificence  and 
shade  expressly  intended  for  sncli  a  purpose,  no  other  sort  of 
tree  can  well  be  employed.  Here,  however,  in  the  region 
Avhich  we  now  tread,  wanting  in  that  patriarchal  tree,  the  field- 
pine  had  been  chosen  -as  the  substitute,  and  nothing  surely 
could  have  been  more  truly  beautiful  than  the  one  in  question. 
A  waving  and  double  line,  .  arried  on  in  sweeping  and  curious 
windings  for  two  thirds  of  a  mile,  described  by  these  trim  and 
tidy  trees,  enclosed  the  party,  and  formed  a  barrier  on  either 
hand,  over  which  no  obtrusive  vine  or  misplaced  scion  of  some 
foreign  stock  was  ever  permitted  to  gad  or  wander.  Some 
idea  may  be  formed  of  the  pains  and  care  which  had  been 
take.:-,  ir.  thus  bending  the  free  forests  in  subservience  to  the 
will  of  nan,  when  we  know  that,  though  naturally  a  hardy 
U'ee  cf  the  most  vigorous  growth,  the  pine  is  yet  not  readily 
transplanted  with  success,  and  is  so  exceedingly  sensitive  in  a 
strange  place,  A-;  in  halt  'he  number  of  instances  to  perish  from 
such  a  transfer.  J.  narrow  but  deep  ditch  formed  an  inner 
parallel  line  with  the  ingh  trees  along  the  avenue;  and  ^he 
earth,  thus  thrown  up  into  a  bank  beneath  the  trees,  gave  ample 
room  and  nutriment  to  a  crowded  hedge  of  greenbrier  and  gath 
ering  vines,  interspersed,  during  a  long  season,  with  a  thousand 
various  and  beautiful  flowers. 

Emerging  from  the  avenue,  the  vista  opened  upon  a  lovely 
pank,  which  spread  away  upon  either  h;,nd  &r.d  was  tastefully 
sprinkled  here  and  'Jisrs,  singly  and  ir*  groups,  with  a  fins  col 
lection  of  massive  &.QG.  c-ommAiia.'ng  '?7S.tei-oaks,  from  around 
the  base  of  whicli  everything  in  tie  guise  cf  shrubbery  an! 
undergrowth,  the  thick,  long  grass  encepted,  had  besn  c^,~c 
fully 'pruned  away.  A  few  young  horses  were  permitted  to 
ramble  about  and  crop  the  verdure  on  one  side  of  the  entrant?., 
while  on  the  other  a  little  knot  of  ruminating  milch-cows,  w 
which  a  like  privilege  had  been  given,  started  up  in  alarm, 
and  tied  at  the  approach  of  strangers  so  numerous  and  so  gor 
geously  arrayed.  Throwing  aside  the  heavy,  swinging  gate 
before  them,  the  troopers  passed  through  a  trace  leading  for 
ward  directly  to  the  dwelling.  On  either  side  of  this  passage 
a  fence  of  light  scantling,  \vhidi  hnd  (nee  been  whitewashed 


6'i 


MKI.LICIIAMI'K. 


proved  a  barrier  against  any  trespass  of  the  cattle  upon  a  prov 
ince  not  their  own. 

The  dwelling  of  Mr.  Berkeley  lay  centrally  before  this  pas 
sage,  and  at  a  little  distance  in  the  rear  of  the  park.     It  was 
nn    ancient   mansion,  of  huge   and   clumsy  brick,  square   ana 
heavy  in  its  design,  though  evidently  well  constructed.     It  was? 
built  about  the  time  of  the  Ycmassee  war,  after  the  fashion  of 
that  period,  and  was  meant  to  answer  the  purposes  of  a  fortress 
against  the  savage,  not  less  than  a  dwelling  for  the  civilized 
man.     On  one  occasion  the  Edistohs  had  besieged  it  with  a 
force  of  nearly  two  hundred  warriors ;    but  the  stout  plantei 
who  held  it  at  the  time,  old  Marmaduke  Berkeley,  with  the  aid 
of  his  neighbors,  and  a  few  trusty  Irish  workmen,  v!:.o  'iad 
been  employed  upon  the  estate,  made  a  sturdy  defence,  until 
the  friendly  Indians,  who  were  the  allic^of  the  vj.ites,  and, 
consequently,  foes  to  the  Edistohs,  came  to  their  relief,  and 
beat  off  the  invaders.     The  external  aspect  of  the  edifice  boro 
sufficient  testimony  of  its  antiquity,     Tbo  bricks  were  dark 
and  mouldy  in  appearance,  and  the  walls  in  several  places  had 
begun  to  crumble  and  crack  beneath  their  own  c^,™h  rousness 
Clambering  parasites  on  the  northern  side  had  r  j.n  «t  Uberti 
over  its  surface,  still  holding  on,  even  in  corresponding  ruin, 
when  half  withered  and  sapless  themselves.     Little  tufts  of 
dank  moss  protruded  her-:  and  there  from  dusty  apertures;  and 
s-  close  eye  migLt  even  £rd  an  insidious  and  lurking  decay 
Liriving  fast  in  th«  yielding  frame  which  sustained  this  or  th?t 
creaking  shutter.     The  rny^sicn  ^ttosted,  not  merely  its  owr. 
but  the  decline  cf  its  proprietor.     A  man  of  energy,  character, 
and  due  reflection,  would  i.ave  found  little  difficulty  in  main 
lining  a  resolute  and  successful  defence  against  the  bold  as 
sault  of  the  tempest,  or  the  insidious  gnawings  and  sappings 
of  time.     The  present  owner,  unhappily,  was  not  this  sort  of 
man.     He  was  prematurely  old,  as  he  had  been  constitution 
ally  timid  ?-d  habitually  nervous.     His  life,  so  far,  had  passed 
in   a  fevensh   and   trembling  indecision,  which   defeated   all 
steady  thought  and  prompt  action.     He  was  one  of  those  who, 
having  the  essentials  of  manhood,  has  yet  always  been  a  child 
Ke  had  tottered   through  life  with  no  confidence  in  his  arms 


I'INEY    GROVE.  65 

and  as  if  his  legs  had  been  crutches,  borrowed  from  a  neigh* 
boring  tree,  rather  than  limbs  of  a  native  growth,  and  dtr°tined 
to  the  performance  of  his  will.  Gladly,  at  all  times,  would  he 
prefer  to  lean  upon  the  shoulders  of  his  neighbor  rather  than 
trust  independently  to  his  own  thews  and  smews.  In  politics 
IIP.  could  be  none  other  than  the  truckler  Lo  the  existing  au 
thority,  having  preferences,  however,  which  h3  dared  not  speak, 
vacillating  between  extremes,  temporizing  vith  every  party, 
yet  buffeted  by  all. 

The  appearance  of  ins  troop  brought  the  old  gentleman 
down  his  steps  to  lecciva  them  Barslicld  only  advanced, 
leaving  Clayton  to  quarter  tho  tro^p  on  the  edge  and  within 
the  enclosure  of  tr-.e  p&rk.  M;:.  Berkeley's  manner  was  cour 
teous  and  cordial  eriO'a^Ii,  but  marked  by  trepidation.  His 
welcome,  however,  Tras  "anco'aotrained,  and  seemed  habitual. 
Like  the  major  jrarl  of  the  class  or  wliicli  !ie  was  a  member, 
the  duties  of  hospitality  nev3r  B'offa.sd  nsgisct  at  his  hands. 
Like  them,  he  delighted  i.?.  society,  and  was  at  all  times 
ready  and  pleased  at  the  appearance  of  a  guest.  Nor  did  the 
perilous  nature  of  events  at  the  period  of  which  we  write,  his 
own  timidity,  and  the  doubtful  character  of  the  new-comer, 
tend,  in  any  great  degree,  to  chill  the  freedom  and  check  the 
tendency  of  his  habit  in-  this  respect.  Accustomed  always  to 
wealth  and  influence,  to  the  familiar  association  with  strangers, 
and  to  a  free  intercourse  with  a  once  thickly-settled  and  pleaa- 
ant  neighborhood,  a  frank,  open-hearted  demeanor  became  as 
much  his  characteristic  as  his  jealous  apprehensions.  This  was 
also  his  misfortune,  since,  without  doubt,  it  increased  the  natu 
ral  dependence  of  his  mind.  The  habit  of  giving  a  due  con 
sideration  to  the  claims  of  others,  though  a  good  one,  doubtless, 
has  yet  its  limits,  which  to  pass,  though  for  a  moment  only,  is 
to  stimulate  injustice,  and  to  encourage  the  growth  of  a  tyranny 
to  our  own  injury.  In  his  connection  with  those  around  him, 
and  at  the  period  of  which  we  write,  when  laws  we^, nominal, 
and  were  administered  only  at  the  caprice  of  power,  the  virtue 
of  Mr.  Berkeley  became  a  weakness ;  and  he  was  accordingly 
preyed  upon  by  the  profligate,  and  defied  by  the  daring — 
compelled  to  be  silent  under  wrong,  or,  if  he  resented  it,  only 


<0"6  MELLICIIAMPE. 

provoking  thereby  its  frequent  repetition.  His  mild  bluo  eye 
spoke  bis  feelings ;  his  nervousness  amply  announced  his  own 
consciousness  of  imbecility ;  while  his  pale  cheek  and  prema 
turely  white  hair  told  of  afflictions  deeply  felt,  and  of  vexing 
and  frequent  strii'cs  injuries,  and  discontent. 

On  the  present  occasion  he  received  his  guest  with  a  kindly 
air  of  welcome,  whhh  was  most  probably  sincere.  Ho  was 
quite  too  fecbld  not  to  be  glad  of  the  presence  of  those  who 
could  afford  him  protection  ;  and  there  was  no  little  truth  in 
the  boast  of  the  tory  captain  *o  his  companion,  when  he  said 
that  the  timidity  of  Berkeley  would  be  one  of  the  probable 
influences  which  might  facilitate  his  prograes  in  the  courtship 
o.C  his  daughter.  The,  manner  of  Barsfield  was  influenced 
somewhat  by  his  knowledge  of  the  weakness  of  Mr.  Berkeley, 
not  less  than  by  Lis  own  habitual  audacity.  He  met  the  old 
gentleman  with  r.r  air  of  ancient  intimacy,  grasped  the  prof 
fered  hand  with  a  in  arty  and  confident  action,  and,  in  tones 
rather  louder  than  ordinary,  congratulated  him  upon  his  health 
and  good  looks. 

"  I  have  not  waited,  you  see,  Mr.  Berkeley,  for  an  invita 
tion.  I  have  ridden  in  and  taken  possession  without  a  word, 
as  if  I  was  perfectly  assured  that  no  visitor  could  be  more  cer 
tainly  welcome  to  a  good  loyalist  like  yourself,  than  one  who 
was  in  arms  for  his  majesty." 

"None,  sir  —  none,  Captain  Barsfield  —  you  do  me  nothing 
more  than  justice.  You  are  welcome  —  his  majesty's  officers 
and  troops  are  always  welcome  to  my  poor  dwelling,"  was  the 
reply  of  the  old  man,  uttered,  without  restraint,  and  seemingly 
with  cordiality;  and  yet,  a  close  observer  might  have  seen 
that  there  was  an  air  of  abstraction  indicative  of  a  wandering 
and  dissatisfied  mood,  in  the  disturbed  and  changing  expres 
sion  of  his  features.  A.  few  moments  elapsed,  which  they  em 
ployed  in  mutual  inquiries,  when  Lieutenant  Clayton,  having 
bestowed  his  men,  their  baggage,  and  wagons,  agreeably  to  the 
directions  given  him,  now  joined  them  upon  the  steps  of  the 
dwelling,  and  was  introduced  by  Barsfield,  in  character,  to  his 
host.  Clayton  reported  to  his  captain  what  he  had  done  with 
the  troop,  their  disposition,  and  the  general  plan  of  theii 


PINKY    GROVE.  67 

arrangement,  in  obedience  lo  orders ;  turning  to  Mr.  Berkeley 
at  the  conclusion,  and  politely  apologizing  for  the  unavoidable 
disturbance  which  such  an  arrangement  must  necessarily  oc 
casion  in  his  grounds.  The  old  man  smiled  faintly,  and  mur 
mured  out  words  of  approbation;  but,  though  lie  strove  to  be 
and  to  appear  satisfied,  lie  was  evidently  ill  at  ease.  The  in 
vasion  of  his  beautiful  park  by  a  prancing  and  wheeling  troop 
oi"  horse  —  its  quiet  broken  by  tho  oaths,  the  clamor,  and  the 
confusion  common  to  turbulent  soldiers,  and  the  utter  disper 
sion  of  his  fine  young  horses,  which  had  leaped  the  barrier  in 
their  fright,  and  were  now  flying  in  all  directions  over  the 
plantation,  brought  to  his  bosom  no  small  pang,  as  they  spoke 
strongly  for  the  extent  of  his  submission.  He  controlled  hie 
dissatisfaction,  however,  as  well  as  he  could,  and  now  urged 
his  guests,  with  frequent  entreaties,  to  enter  his  mansion  for 
refreshment.  They  followed  him  from  the  piazza  into  a  large 
hall,  such  as  might  have  answered  the  purposes  of  a  room  of 
state,  calculated  for  the  deliberations  of  a  thousand  men.  It 
was  thus  that  our  ancestors  built,  as  ]t  were,  with  a  standard 
drawn  from  the  spacious  wilds  and  \v  3ods  around  them.  They 
seemed  also  to  have  built  for  posterity.  Huge  beams,  unen 
closed,  ran  along  above,  supporting  the  upper  chambers,  which 
were  huge  enough  to  sustain  the  weight  of  a  palace.  TLo 
walls  were  covered  with  the  dark  and  duiable  cypress,  wrought 
in  panels,  which  gave  a  rich,  artist-like  air  to  the  apartment. 
Two  huge  fireplaces  at  opposite  ends  of  the  hall  attested  its 
great  size,  in  one  of  which,  even  in  the  month  cf  September,  a 
few  broken  brands  might  be  seen  still  burning  upon  the  hearth. 
A  dozen  faded  family  pictures,  in  massive  black  frames,  hung 
around  — quaint,  rigid,  puritanical  faces,  seemingly  cut  out  of 
board,  after  the  fashion  of  Sir  Peter  Lely,  with  glaring  Flem 
ish  drapery,  and  that  vulgar  style  of  coloring  which  makes  of 
red  and  yellow  primary  principles,  from  the  contagion  of  which 
neither  land,  sea,  HOT  sky,  is  suffered  in  any  climate  to  be  prop 
erly  exempt,  The  furniture  was  heavy  and  massive  like  the 
rest  T—  suitable  to  the  apartment,  and  solid,  like  the  dwellings 
and  desires  of  the  people  of  the  bygone  days. 

Seats  were  drawn,  the  troopers  at  ease,  and  the  good  old 


68  MKLLIClIAMi'K 

Madoiia  of  the  planter  soon  made  its  appearance,  to  which 
they  did  ample  justice.  The  generous  liquor  soon  produced 
freedom  of  discourse  ;  and,  after  a  few  courteous  and  usual 
overtures,  consisting  of  mutual  inquiries  after  the  health  of  the 
several  parties  present,  their  relations,  friends,  and  so  forth, 
the  conversation  grew  more  general,  and,  perhaps,  more  impor 
tant,  as  it  touched  upon  the  condition  of  the  country. 

"  You  have  quiet  now,  Mr.  Perkeley,"  said  Barsfield.  "  The 
rousing  defeats  which  the  rehels  have  recently  sustained  have 
pretty  well  done  them  up  on  every  side.  The  game  is  very 
nigh  over,  and  we  shall  soon  have  little  else  to  do  than  gather 
up  the  winnings.  The  drubbing  which  Cornwallis  gave  that 
conceited  fellow,  Gates,  and  the  surprise  of  Sumter,  both  events 
so  complete  and  conclusive,  will  go  very  far  toward  bringing 
the  country  back  to  its  loyalty." 

"  God  £i*ant  it,  sir,"  was  the  ardent  response  of  Mr.  Berke 
ley,  "  for  we  shall  then  have  peace.  These  have  been  four 
miserable  years  to  the  country,  since  the  beginning  of  this 
war.  Neighbor  again?":,  reighbor,  friend  against  friend,  and 
sometimes  even  brother  arming  and  going  out  to  battle  with 
his  brother.  It  has  bssn  an  awful  time,  and  Heaven  grant,  sir, 
it  may  bo  as  you  say.  Heaven  restore  us  the  quiet  and  the 
peace  which  have  been  for  so  long  strangers  in  the  land." 

•'  You  shall  have  it,  sir,  I  promise  you,  after  this ;  though  1 
should  think,  by  this  time,  you  have  been  perfectly  freed  from 
(.iio  incursions  of  that  skulking  fellow,  Marion.  The  report  is 
that  he  has  disbanded  his  men,  and  has  fled  into  North  Caro 
lina.  If  so,  I  shall  have  !itf.le  use  for  mine ;  and  these  arms 
which  I  have  brought  for  distribution  among  your  loyal  neigh 
bors,  will  scarcely  be  necessary  to  them.  IIa,ve  you  any  in 
telligence  on  this  subject,  Mr.  Berkeley  ?" 

"No,  sir  —  no?  none  !  I  am  not  in  the  way,  Captain  Bars- 
field,  of  hearing  intelligence  of  this  nature.  I  know  nothing 
of  the  movements  of  either  party." 

This  reply  was  uttered  with  some  little  trepidation ;  nnd, 
as  the  old  gentleman  spoke,  he  looked  apprehensively  around 
the  apartment,  as  if  he  dreaded  to  see  the  redoubtable  "  swamp 
fox"  and  all  his  crew,  "  Roaring  Dick,"  "  Thumbscrew,"  and 


PINEY    GROVE. 

the  rest,  fast  gathering  at  his  elbow.     Barsfield  smiled  at 
movement,  and  crossing  one  leg  over  another,  and  slapping 
his  thigh  with  an  air  of  unmitigated  self-complaisance  as  lie 
spoke,  he  thus  replied,  rather  to  the  look  and  manner  than 
the  language  of  his  host : — 

"  Well,  sir,  I  hope  soon  to  rid  you  of  any  apprehensions  on 
the  subject  of  that  marauding  rebel.  I  am  about  to  become 
your  near  neighbor,  Mr.  Berkeley." 

The  old  gentleman  bowed  in  token  of  his  satisfaction  at  the 
intelligence.  Barsfield  continued  — 

"  You  have  heard;  doubtlessly,  that  I  am  now  the  proprietor 
of  th,T  ne-bl",  estate  of  'Kaddipah,'  formerly  the  seat  of  Max 
Melhchampe,  and  confiscated  to  h.;s  majesty's  uses  on  account 
of  that  arch-traitor's  defection.  Having  had  the  good  fortune 
to  slay  tli«3  rebel  witli  my  own  hand  his  majesty  has  been 
pleased  to  bestow  upon  ine  the  estate  which  he  so  justly  for 
feited." 

There  was  some  emotion  of  an  equivocal  sort  visible  in  the 
countenance  of  Berkeley,  as  he  listened  to  this  communication. 
A  shade  of  melancholy  overspread  his  face,  as  if  some  painful 
memory  had  suddenly  grown  active ;  and  a  slight  suffusion  of 
his  eyelashes  was  not  entirely  undistinguished  by  his  guests. 
Struggling  with  his  feelings,  however,  whatever  may  have 
been  their  source,  the  old  man  recovered  himself  sufficiently 
to  reply,  though  in  a  thick  voice,  which  left  his  language  but 
half  intelligible. 

"Yes — yes,  sir— I  did  hear — I'm  glad,  sir — I  shall  he 
happy — " 

And  here  he  paused  in  the  imperfect  speech  which  Barsfield 
did  not  leave  him  time  to  finish. 

"  There  will  be  nothing  then,  sir,  that  any  of  us  will  have 
to  fear  from  these  outliers  in  the  swamps ;  when  that  takes 
place,  '  Kaddipah,'  sir,  so  long  as  the  war  continues,  will  be 
a  place  of  defence,  sufficiently  well-guarded  as  a  post  to  resist 
ctny  present  force  of  Marion  ;  and,  as  I  shall  have  charge  of  it, 
I  think  it  safe  to  say,  from  what  they  know  of  me,  they  will 
not  often  venture  even  within  scouting  distance.  Talking  of 
scouts,  now,  Clayton,  where's  the  fellow  we  picked  up  to-day. 


70  MELLICUAMl'K. 

having  a  pass  from  Proctor?  He  looks  as  if  he  would  make 
an  admirable  one.  If  his  eyes  only  see  as  far  as  they  seem 
willing  to  go,  he  is  certainly  a  very  valuable  acquisition. 

A  distinct  hem  from  another  quarter  of  the  hall  attracted 
all  eyes  in  that  direction,  and  there,  squat  upon  the  hearth  of 
one  of  the  fireplaces,  sat  the  form  of  Blonay.  He  had  piled 
the  dismembered  brands  together,  and  sat  enjoying  the  fire, 
unperceived  and  certainly  uncnvied.  At  wl.at  time  he  had 
so  secretly  effected  his  entrance,  was  utterly  luikrown  to  any 
of  the  party.  •  Barsfield  started  as  n  3  beheld  Liim,  and,  seeming 
to  forget  his  host,  hastily  addressed  Lim  :— - 

"  Why,  how  now,  fellov?  ?  you  Q.isra  to  make  yorrself  at 
home.  Why  are  you  here  »  ;-/i  y  did  you  not  remain  with  the 
troop  ?" 

"Why,  caine  I  an't  jno  „£  fclem.  y~  r-ce,  cappin,  and  they 
all  pokes  fun  at  inc." 

The  simplicity  of  this  repl;-  .iis'irmed  Baisfiald  of  IUB  anger, 
and  his  presence  gave  him  a  n<.-.w  subject  upon  which  to  enjoy 
himself.  The  half-breed  \vfis  now  made  to  undergo  auolhor 
examination,  conducted  by  both  the  officers,  \vhomingled  freely 
with  their  inquiries  sundry  poor  jests  at  his  infirmity,  all  of 
which  fell  upon  the  seemingly  sterile  sense  of  the  subject  as 
if  he  had  been  so  much  marble.  While  thus  engaged  an  inner 
door  was  thrown  open,  and  the  guests  started  involuntarily  tc 
their  foet. 

"  My  daughter,  gentlemen,  Miss  Berkeley  —  my  niece,  Miss 
Duncan,"  were  the  words  of  the  old  man,  uttered  with  an  air 
of  greater  elevation  than  was  his  wont.  The  two  ladies  were 
provided  with  seats,  and  in  the  moment  ray  silence  which  fol 
lowed  their  first  appearance,  we  may  be  permitted  to  take  a 
passing  glance  at  their  persons.  Our  opinions  raay  well  ha 
reserved  for  another  chapter. 


JANET    BERKELEY. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

JANET    IIEIIKELEY. 

THE  appearance  of  Janet  Berkeley  fully  justified  the  high 
encomium  which  Barsfield  had  passed  upon  her  beauties ;  yet 
nothing  could  he  more  unassuming  than  her  deportment  — 
nothing  more  unimposing  than  her  entire  carriage.  A  quiet 
case,  a  natural  and  seemingly  effortless  movement,  placed  her 
before  you,  and,  like  all  perfect  things,  her  loveliness  was  to  he 
studied  before  it  could  be  perceived.  It  did  not  affront  you 
by  an  obtrusion  of  anything  remarkable.  Her  features  were 
all  too  much  in  unison  with  one  another  —  too  symmet 
rically  unique,  to  strike  abruptly;  they  seemed  rather  to 
fill  and  to  absorb  the  mind  of  the  spectator  than  to  strike 
his  eye. 

Her  person  was  rather  small  and  slender  :  her  features, 
though  marked  by  health,  were  all  soft  and  delicate.  A  pale, 
high  forehead,  from  beneath  which  a  pair  of  large  black  eyes 
Hashed  out  a  subdued,  dewy,  but  rich,  transparent  light  —  a 
nose  finely  Grecian —  cheeks  rather  too  pale,  perhaps,  for  ex 
pression —  and  a  mouth  which  was  sweetly  small  and  deli 
cately  full  —  were  the  distinguishing  features  of  her  face. 
Her  chin,  though  not  prominent,  did  not  retreat ;  and  her  neck 
was  white  and  smoothly  round,  as  if  a  nice  artist  had  spent  a 
life  in  working  it  to  perfection.  Her  hair,  which  was  long  and 
dark,  was  gathered  up  and  secured  by  a  white  fillet,  without 
study,  yet  with  a  disposition  of  grace  that  seemed  to  denote 
the  highest  efforts  of  study.  It  was  the  art  which  concealed 
the  art  — the  fine  taste  of  the  woman  naturally  employed  in 
adorning  the  loveliest  object  in  creation  —  herself.  It  was 
the  fashion  of  the  time  to  pile  the  hair  in  successive,  layers 


72  MKJ.LICBAMrE. 

upon  the  crown,  until  it  rose  into  a  huge  tower,  Babel-liko 
and  toppling.  Janet  was  superior  to  any  such  sacrifice  of  good 
sense  and  good  taste,  simply  in  compliance  with  a  vulgar  rage. 
Her  long  tresses,  simply  secured  from  annoyance,  were  left 
free  to  wander  where  they  would  about  her  neck,  to  the  marble 
whiteness  of  which  they  proved  an  admirable  foil ;  while  the 
volume  was  so  distributed  about  the  head  as  to  prevent  that 
uncouth  exhibition  of  its  bulk  in  one  quarter,  which  is  too 
much  the  sin  of  taste  in  the  sex  generally.  So  admirably 
did  the  features,  the  dress,  and  the  deportment,  of  Janet 
Berkeley  blend  in  their  proper  effects  together,  that  the  dullest 
sense  must  have  felt  their  united  force,  even  though  the  eye 
might  not  have  paused  to  dwell  upon  any  one  individual 
beauty.  Her  carriage  denoted  a  consciousness  of  her  own 
strength,  which  spoke  forcibly  in  contrast  with  the  equally 
obvious  feebleness  of  her  father's  spirit.  Perhaps,  indeed,  it 
was  the  imbecility  and  weakness  of  his  which  had  given 
strength  and  character  to  liters.  It  is  not  uncommon  for  the 
good  natural  mind  to  exercise  itself  in  those  attributes  which, 
in  others,  they  perceive  inactive  and  wanting  to  their  owners. 
She  had  seen  too  many  evil  results  from  her  father's  indecision 
and  imbecility,  not  to  strive  sternly  in  the  attainment  of  the 
faculty  in  which  he  was  so  lamentably  deficient;  and  she  had 
not  striven  in  vain.  Though  yet  unenforced  to  open  exercise 
and  exhibition  of  its  strength  by  controlling  and  overcoming 
dangers,  the  heart  of  Janet  Berkeley  was  strong  in  her,  and 
would  not  have  been  unprepared  for  their  encounter.  Her 
untroubled  composure  of  glance,  her  equanimity  of  manner, 
her  unshrinking  address,  and  the  singular  ease  with  which, 
without  tremor  or  hesitation,  her  parting  lips  gave  way  to  the 
utterance  of  the  language  she  might  deem  necessary  tc  the 
occasion  —  were  all  so  many  proofs  of  that  strength  of  soul 
which,  associated  as  it  was  with  all  the  grace  and  suscepti 
bility  of  woman,  made  her  a  creature  of  moral,  not  less  than 
of  physical  symmetry  —  the  very  ideal  of  a  just  conception 
of  the  noblest  nature  and  the  gentlest  sex.  The  deportment 
of  Mr.  Berkeley  was  unconsciously  elevated  as  ho  surveyed 
hers  :  such  is  the  influence  of  the  pure  heart  and  perfect  char- 


JANET    BERKELEY.  73 

acter.  His  pride  grew  lifted  in  the  contemplation  ;  and,  timid 
and  tame,  and  without  a  manly  spirit,  as  he  was,  he  felt  that 
he  could  willingly  die  to  serve  and  to  preserve  her. 

"  She  is  indeed  a  jewel,  Barsfield  !"  said  Clayton,  in  a  whis 
per,  aside  to  his  superior;  "she  is  a  jewel — you  are  a  lucky 
man." 

"A  goddess!"  was  the  quick  reply,  in  similar  tones — "a 
goddess!— she  will  make  Kaddipah  a  very  heaven  in  my 
sight,"  _ 

"  Let  it  be  a  Christian  heaven,  then,  1  pray  you,  by  dropping 
that  abominable  heathen  name." 

The  other  maiden,  whom  we  have  seen  introduced  as  Miss 
Duncan,  was  an  orphan,  a  niece  of  Mr.  Berkeley,  and  for  the 
present,  residing  with  her  cousin.  She  was  pretty,  and  her 
eyes  danced  with  a  lively  pl<iy  of  light,  that  spoke  a  gay 
heart  and  cloudless  disposition.  Perhaps,  at  the  first  glance, 
she  would  have  been  found  more  imposing  than  Janet ;  there 
was  more  to  strike  the  eye  in  her  features  and  deportment,  as 
there  was  more  inequality  —  more  that  was  irregular  —  none 
of  that  perfect  symmetry,  which  so  harmonizes  with  the  ob 
server's  glance  and  spirit,  as  not  often  to  arrest,  at  first,  his 
particular  attention.  A  study  of  her  face,  however,  would 
soon  disenthral,  though  it  would  not  offend,  the  observer.  It 
wanted  depth  —  profundity  —  character.  At  a  glance  you 
beheld  its  resources.  There  was  nothing  more  to  see;  and 
you  would  turn  away  to  her  more  quiet  companion,  and  find  at 
every  look,  in  every  passing  shade  of  expression,  every  tran 
sition  of  mood,  that  there  was  more  hidden  than  revealed  — 
that  the  casket  was  rich  within  —  that  there  was  a  treasure  and 
a  mystery,  though  it  might  demand  a  power  of  the  purest  and 
the  highest  to  unlock  its  spells,  and  to  remove  the  sacred  seal 
that  was  upon  it. 

A  few  moments  had  elapsed  after  the  entrance  of  the  ladies, 
when  a  servant  announced  the  supper  to  be  in  readiness,  after 
the  wholesome  fashion  of  the  country.  A  table  was  spread  in 
an  adjoining  apartment,  and  now  awaited  the  guests.  Barsfield 
wouli  have  offered  his  arm  to  Janet,  but  she  had  already  pos 
sessed  herself  of  her  father's.  Lieutenant  Clayton  had  already 


74:  MKLLlCHAMi'K. 

secured  the  company  of  Miss  Duncan  ;  and  they  were  soon 
seated  round  the  hospitable  board.  But  where  was  Blonay  — 
the  despised  —  the  deformed  —  the  desolate?  Miss  Berkeley, 
presiding  at  the  head  of  the  table,  remarked  his  absence,  and 
her  eye  at  once  addressed  her  father. 

"  The  other  gentleman,  father  ?"  she  said  inquiringly. 

u  Gentleman,  indeed  !"  was  the  exclamation  of  Barsfield,  ac 
companied  by  a  rude  laugh,  which  was  slightly  echoed  by  his 
companions  ;  "  Gentleman,  indeed  !  give  yourself  no  manner  of 
concern  on  his  account,  Miss  Berkeley.  He  is  some  miserable 
overseer  —  a  sand-lapper  from  Goose  Creek,  of  whom  we  know 
nothing,  except  that  Proctor,  the  commandant  at  Dorchester, 
has  thought  proper  to  give  him  a  passport  to  go  where  he 
pleases. " 

"Tie  is  my  father's  guest,  sir,"  was  the  dignified  and  rebu 
king  reply  ;  "and  we  can  take  no  exception  to  his  poverty,  or 
his  occupation,  or  the  place  from  which  he  comes.  We  have 
not  heretofore  been  accustomed  to  do  so,  and  it  would  be  far 
less  than  good  policy  now,  when  the  vicissitudes  of  the  times 
are  such,  that  even  a  person  such  as  you  describe  him  to  be 
may  become  not  only  our  neighbor  but  our  superior,  to-mor 
row." 

Mr.  Berkeley  started  from  his  chair  in  some  little  confusion. 
He  felt  the  truth  of  what  his  daughter  said,  yet  he  saw  that 
her  speech  had  touched  Barsfield  to  the  quick.  The  red  spot 
was  on  the  cheek  of  the  tory,  and  his  lips  quivered  for  an  in 
stant. 

"Janet  is  right,  Captain  Barsfield  ;  the  hospitality  of  Piney 
Grove  must  not  be  impeached.  Its  doors  must  be  open  to  the 
poor  as  well  as  the  rich  ;  we  can  not  discriminate  between 
them  :"  and,  so  speaking,  he  hurried  out  to  look  after  the  half 
i.rced.  lie  had  not  far  to  look.  To  the  great  surprise  cf  the 
•  >ld  man,  he  found  Blonay  a  listener  at  the  door  of  the  apart 
ment.  He  must  have  heard  every  syllable  that  had  been 
spoken.  He  had  been  practising  after  his  Indian  nature,  and 
was  not  sensible  of  any  impropriety  in  the  act.  Revolting  at 
the  task  before  him,  Mr.  Berkeley,  with  as  good  a  grace  as  pos 
sible,  invited  the  scout  into  the  apartment  —  an  invitation 


JANET    BERKELEY.  75 

accepted  without  scruple,  and  as  soon  as  given  ;  and  lie  sidled 
into  a  seat,  much  to  the  annoyance  of  Barsfield,  directly  in 
front  of  him.  This  little  occurrence  did  not  take  place  with 
out  greatly  disquieting  the  host.  He  saw  that  Barsfield  felt 
the  force  of  the  sarcasm  which  his  daughter  had  uttered,  and 
he  strove,  by  the  most  unwearied  attentions  on  his  own  part, 
to  do  away  with  all  unpleasant  feelings  on  the  part  of  the  tory 
captain.  Janet,  however,  exhibited  no  manner  of  change  in 
her  deportment.  She  did  not  seem  conscious  of  any  departure 
from  prudence,  as  she  certainly  had  been  guilty  of  no  depar 
ture  from  propriety  ;  but,  when  she  saw  the  indefatigable  and 
humiliating  industry,  with  which  her  father  strove  to  conciliate 
a  man  whom  she  had  good  reason  to  despise  as  well  as  hate, 
the  warm  cokv  stole  into  her  cheeks  with  a  flash-like  indigna 
tion,  and  her  upper  lip  took  its  expression  from  the  bitter  scorn 
in  her  bosom,  and  curled  into  very  haughtiness  as  she  surveyed 
the  scene.  The  expression  passed  away  in  an  instant,  how 
ever  ;  and  when,  a  little  more  composed  himself,  Barsfield 
ventured  to  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  maiden,  and  saw 
how  subdued,  how  gentle,  how  utterly  wanting  in  malignity, 
were  her  features,  he  dismissed  from  his  mind  the  thought  that 
what  she  had  said,  so  directly  applying  as  it  did  to.  himself  — 
he  having  sprung  from  the  dregs  of  the  people,  and  such 
having  been  his  fortunes  —  was  intended  for  any  such  appli 
cation. 

The  angry  scowl  with  which  the  tory  might  have  regarded 
the  maiden,  was  turned,  however,  upon  the  half-breed;  who 
as  he  beheld  its  threatening  expression,  would  have  been  glad 
to  have  taken  to  his  heels,  and  to  have  hidden  his  disquiet  in 
the  surrounding  woods.  But  the  kind  look  of  Janet  reassured 
him,  and  he  turned  his  frightful  and  blear  eyes  in  no  other 
direction.  His  mind,  probably  for  the  first  time,  seemed  to 
take  in  a  new  sentiment  of  the  loveliness  of  virtue.  Though 
blear-eyed,  he  was  not  blind  ;  and,  as  she  did  not  seem  to 
behold  his  deformity,  he  was  able  to  examine  her  beauty.  In 
morals,  the  German  theory  of  the  senses  is  more  than  half 
right.  The  odor  and  the  color  are  in  us,  rather  than  in  the 
objects  of  oui  survey  ;  and  yet,  unless  acted  upon  by  external 


76  MELLICHAMPE. 

influences,  the  latent  capacity  might  never  expand  into  energy 
and  consciousness.  To  bring  out  this  capacity  is  the  office  of 
education,  and  this  art  had  never  so  far  acted  upon  the  half- 
breed,  as  to  show  him  how  much  there  was  of  a  good  nature 
dormant,  and  silent,  and  mingled  up  with  the  evil  within  him 
His  education,  in  a  leading  respect,  was  yet  to  begin. 


OWLS    ABEOAD.  77 


CHAPTER  IX. 

OWLS    ABROAD. 

LET  us  back  to  the  woods  and  their  wild  inhabitants.  We 
have  seen  the  success  of  the  woodman  in  dissuading  his  young 
companion  from  the  idle  and  rash  demonstration  which  he 
sought  to  make  upon  the  person  of  the  tory  captain.  Prevent 
ed  from  any  attempt  upon  the  life  of  Barsfield,  Mellichampe 
nevertheless  determined  upon  watching  his  footsteps.  In  this 
design  he  was  readily  seconded  by  Witherspoon.  This,  in 
deed,  was  a  duty  with  them  both.  They  were  then  playing 
the  part  of  scouts  to  Marion.  Taking  their  way  on  foot, 
immediately  after  their  enemies,  they  kept  the  cover  of  the 
forest,  with  the  caution  of  experienced  wood  men,  venturing 
only  now  and  then  upon  the  skirts  of  the  road,  in  such  conti 
guity  as  to  enable  them  to  command  a  full  view,  for  some  dis 
tance  on  either  hand,  of  everything  that  took  place  upon  it. 
Familiar  with  the  neighborhood,  they  availed  themselves  of 
each  by-way  and  foot-path  to  shorten  the  distance  ;  and  thus, 
gaining  ground  at  every  step,  they  were  readily  and  soon  ena 
bled  to  come  in  sight  of  the  persons  they  pursued. 

The  fierce  spirit  of  the  youthful  Mellichampe  could  scarcely 
be  restrained  by  a  wholesome  prudence,  while  he  saw,  at  mo 
ments,  through  the  leaves,  the  person  of  his  enemy.  It  was 
with  no  small  increase  of  vexation,  when  they  came  in  sight 
of  Piney  Grove,  that  he  saw  the  troop  of  the  tory  turning 
into  the  avenue.  Could  he  have  listened  to  the  dialogue  be 
tween  the  tory  captain  and  his  lieutenant  at  this  time,  his  fury 
would  scarce  have  boon  restrainable.  It  would  have  been 
a  far  more  difficult  matter  for  his  companion  then  to  have 
kept  him  iron  his  meditated  rashness.  A  passing  remark  o/ 


i  1  MET.LICIIAMI'E. 

Thumbscrew,  as  the  course  of  Barsfield  grew  obvious,  seemed 
to  field  new  fuel  to  the  fire  already  burning  in  his  bosom. 

"So  ho!  he's  for  Piney  Grove  to-night!  Well,  Airnest, 
that  knocks  up  your  business.  There's  no  gitting  to  see  Miss 
.Janet  while  Barefield's  there,  I  reckon." 

"  And  why  not  ?"  was  the  fierce  demand,  "  why  not  1  I 
Avill  see  her  to-night,  by  Heaven,  though  I  die  for  it  !  I  have 
promised  her,  and  God  help  me,  as  I  shall  keep  that  and  every 
promise  that  I  have  made,  or  shall  ever  make,  to  her!  Do 
y^n  think,  Thumbscrew,  that  I  fear  this  scoundrel?  Do  you 
th'nk  that  I  would  not  the  rather  go,  if  I  thought  that  it  was 
possiiile  to  encounter  him  alone?  I  have  prayed  for  such  a 
chance,  and  I  would  pray  for  it  now,  even  were  the  odds  more 
numerously  against  me." 

"  Don't  be  rash,  Airnest  —  don't  be  headstrong  and  contrary, 
boy.  It'll  be  mighty  ohwise  and  redic'lous  for  you  to  go  to 
Piney  Grove  to-night,  though  you  did  make  a  promise:  there's 
no  use  for  it,  and  it's  like  going  into  the  lion's  den,  as  a  body 
may  say.  Barsfield,  you  may  be  sure,  will  put  out  his  sentries; 
and  them  tories,  like  the  smallpox  they  have  in  Charleston 
now,  are  mighty  catching.  You  can't  go  there  with  any 
chance  of  clearing  the  bush  ;  and  if  that  chap  gets  you  in 
lis  gripe,  it'll  go  monstrous  hard  with  you.  He  knows  you've 
got  no  reason  to  love  him;  and  he's  hearn,  long  ago,  how 
you've  sworn  agin  him  ;  and  he'd  like  nothing  better  now.  do 
you  see,  than  to  set  finger  upon  you.  You  can't  think  how 
pleasant  it  would  make  him  feel  to  put  a  grape-vine  round 
your  neck  :  so  you  must  keep  quiet,  and  not  think  of  seeing 
Miss  Janet  to-night." 

"  But  I  must  and  will  think  of  it.  I  will  see  her  at  every 
hazard  and  you  need  say  nothing  more  on  the  subject,  Thumb 
screw,  unless  you  change  very  greatly  the  burden  of  what  you 
say.  This  caution  —  caution  —  caution  —  nothing  but  caution 
—  is  the  dullest  music  ;  it  sickens  me  to  the  soul.  You  are  too 
careful  of  me  by  half,  Thumbscrew  ;  I  can't  move  but  yon 
follow  and  counsel  me  —  striving  to  guard  me  against  a  thou 
sand  dangers  and  difficulties  which  nobody  ever  dreams  of  but 
yourself." 


OWLS    ABROAD.  79 

4<  That's  because  I  loves  you,  Airnest,  much  better  than 
Anybody  else,  and  much  better,  when  the  truth's  spoken,  than 
you  loves  yourself,"  replied  the  woodman,  affectionately  put 
ting  his  arms  around  the  neck  of  his  youthful  companion:  "  I 
loves  you,  Airnest,  and  I  watches  you  like  an  old  hen  that's 
got  but  one  chicken  left,  and  T  clucks  and  scratches  twice  »ir 
much  for  that  very  reason.  If  there  was  a  dozen  to  look  after, 
now,  the  case  would  he  different ;  I  wouldn't  make  half  the 
fuss  that  I  make  about  the  one  :  but,  you  see.^hen  it  so 
happens  that  the  things  a  man's  got  to  love  gits  fewer  and 
smaller,  they  gits  more  valuable,  Airnest,  in  his  sight  ;  for  he 
knows  mighty  well,  if  he  loses  them,  that  he's  jist  like  an  old 
bird  that  comes  back  to  the  tree  when  the  blossoms  and  the 
flowers  have  all  dropped  off,  and  are  rotting  under  it.  It's 
mighty  nigh  to  winter  in  his  heart  then,  Airnest  —  mighty 
nigh  —  and  the  sooner  he  begins  to  look  out  for  a  place  to  sleep 
in,  the  wiser  man  you  may  take  him  to  tjej  But,  Airnest,  'taint 
altogither  that  I  loves  you  so  that  makes  me  agin  your  going 
to-night  to  see  the  gal " 

"  Stop,  Thumbscrew,  if  you  please,"  were  the  words  of  inter 
ruption  sternly  uttered  by  the  youth  ;  "  you  will  change  you* 
mode  of  speech  in  speaking  of  Miss  Berkeley,  and,  when  yc»» 
refer  to  her  in  my  hearing,  you  will  please  do  so  with  becorr?. 
ing  respect." 

"  bwounds,  Airnest,  don't  I  respect  her?  Don't  you  know 
that  I  respects  her?  Don't  T  love  her,  I  ax  you,  a-most  as 
much  as  I  loves  you?  and  wouldn't  I  do  anything  for  you 
both,  that  wasn't  a  mean,  cowardly  thing?  You  know  I 
doesn't  mean  to  be  disrespectful  in  what  I  says  consarning  her; 
and  you  mustn't  talk  so  as  if  you  thought  1  did.  I  says  I'm 
agin  your  going  to  see  her,  or  anybody  at  Piney  Grove,  not 
because  it's  you  that's  going,  but  because  I  wouldn't  have  any 
body  go,  that  b'longs  to  Marion's  men,  into  the  clutches  of 
them  there  thieves  and  murderers.  It'll  be  as  much  as  your 
neck's  worth  to  go  there,  for  Barsfield  is  something  of  a  soger; 
and  will  be  sure  to  put  out  scouts  and  sentries  all  round  the 
house.  If  he  don't  he's  no  better  than  a  nigger,  and  desarves 
to  be  cashiered." 


80  MELLICIIA.MPE. 

"  Danger  or  no  danger,  Thumbscrew,  I'll  go  to  Piney  Grove 
tliis  night,  as  I  have  promised.  You  may  spare  yourself  all 
farther  exhortation.  I  keep  my  word,  though  death  be  in  the 
way." 

"  Well,  now,  Airnest,  that's  what  I  call  pervarsion  and  mere 
foolishness.  She  won't  look  for  you,  Ainiest.  She's  a  lady 
of  sense  and  understanding,  and  won't  so  much  as  dream  to 
see  you  after  Barsfield's  coming." 

"Say  no  more,"  said  the  youth,  decisively;  "I  will  go. 
Let  us  now  return  to  our  horses,  and  you  can  then  go  on  to 
Broom  Hollow,  where  I'll  meet  you  by  midnight." 

The  youth  turned  away  while  speaking,  and  the  woodman 
followed  him,  though  slowly,  and  with  looks  of  deepest  concern. 
•  "You  wants  to  see  her,  Airnest,  that's  it;  it  ain't  so  much 
because  you  promised,  as  because  you  wants  to  keep  your 
promise.  Ah,  Airnest,  this  love  in  young  people  —  it  ain't 
sensible,  and  I  say  it  ain't  strong  and  lasting.  No  love  is 
strong  and  lasting  if  it  ain't  sensible.  This  what  you  has  now 
is  only  a  sulky  autumn  fever,  Airnest ;  it'll  burn  like  old  ven 
geance  for  a  month  or  so,  and  everybody  that  don't  know  any 
thing  about  it  might  reckon  it  hot  enough  to  set  the  woods 
£-fire  ;  but  it  goes  off  monstrous  quick  after  that,  for  you  see 
h  burns  Its  substance  all  away,  and  then  comes  on  the  shaking 
ague,  and  it  sticks  to  you,  God  only  knows,  there's  no  telling 
how  long !" 

The  youth  smiled,  not  less  at  the  earnestness  of  his  com 
panion's  manner,  than  at  the  grotcsqueness  of  his  compari 
sons,  lie  contented  himself  as  they  pursued  their  way  back  to 
the  cover  which  they  T^ad  left,  by  insisting  upon  the  superior 
nature  of  his  affecton  to  that  which  he  had  described. 

"  Not  so  with  me,  Thumbscrew ;  I  know  myself  too  well ; 
and,  if  I  did  not,  I  certainly  know  Janet  too  well  ever  to  love 
her  less  than  now,  unless  some  change  of  which  I  dream  not, 
and  which  I  believe  impossible  —  some  strange  change  —  shall 
come  over  both  of  us.  But  no  more  of  this ;  let  us  see  to  our 
horses,  and  with  the  dark  you  can  go  on  to  Broom  Hollow, 
where  I  will  seek  you  as  soon  after  I  leave  '  Piney  Grove'  aa 
I  can." 


OWLS    ABROAD.  81 

The  woodman  shook  his  head  and  muttered  to  himself,  with 
an  air  not  less  of  decision  than  of  dissent.  If  his  companion 
was  fixed  in  his  determination,  Thumbscrew  was  not  less  re 
solved  in  his ;  bit  of  this  he  said  nothing.  Quietly  enough, 
and  with  the  composure  and  intimacy  of  two  relying  friends, 
they  sought  out  their  retreat,  behind  which,  some  hundred 
yards,  a  close  bay  gave  shelter  to  their  horses  —  two  noble 
Animals,  well  caparisoned,  which  bounded  away  beneath  them 
with  a  free  step  and  a  graceful  movement,  though  the  dark 
ness  already  covered  the  highway,  making  the  path  doubtful, 
if  not  dangerous,  in  some  places,  to  riders  less  experienced 
and  bold  than  themselves.  They  retraced  the  ground  which 
they  had  just  left,  and  when  they  had  reached  the  avenue 
leading  to  "  Piney  Grove,"  they  sunk  into  the  contiguous 
woods,  and  there  Mellichampe,  alighting,  prepared  himself  for 
that  visit  to  his  mistress  from  which  his  comrade  had  so  earn 
estly  endeavored  to  dissuade  him.  Nor  did  he  now  forbear 
his  solicitations  to  the  same  effect.  He  urged  his  objections 
more  gently,  yet  with  his  former  earnestness,  only  to  meet 
with  same  stern  decision. 

"Well,  now,  Airnest,"  said  the  faithful  woodman,  "sence 
you're  bent  to  go,  like  a  wilful  fox  that's  still  got  a  tail  worth 
docking,  suppose  you  let  me  go  along  with  you  ?  You'd  bet 
ter,  now  ;  I  can  keep  watch  — " 

"  Pshaw  !  Thumbscrew,  what  nonsense  !  I  need  no  watch, 
and  certainly  would  not  permit  your  presence  at  such  a  time. 
You  know  I  go  to  meet  with  a  lady." 

"  8 wounds,  Airnest !  but  she  sha'n't  ces  me." 

"  Why,  man,  of  what  do  you  speak  ?  Wonld  you  have  me 
guilty  of  a  meanness,  Thumbscrew  ?" 

"  Dang  it,  Airnest !"  I  see  it's  no  use  to  talk.  You're  on 
your  high  horse  to-day,  and  nobody  can  take  you  down.  I'll 
leave  you;  but,  Airnest,  boy,  keep  a  bright  look-out,  and  stick 
to  the  bush  close  as  a  blind  'possum  that's  lame  of  a  fore-paw. 
You're  going  among  sharp  woodmen,  them  same  tories;  and 
they'll  give  you  a  hard  drive  if  they  once  sets  foot  on  your 
trail,  When  do  you  say  you'll  come?" 


82  MELIJCHAMI'E. 

"About  midnight  —  but  don't  wait  for  me.  Go  to  sleep,  <»Ul 
fellow,  for  I  know  you  need  it." 

"  Good-by,  Airnest!     God  bless  you!" 

"  Good-by."  » 

"And,  Airnest — " 

"  What  now,  Thumby  ?" 

"Keep  snug,  that's  all,  and  don't  burn  daylight;  that's  to 
any,  don't  waste  time.  Good-by." 

The  youth,  leaving  his  horse  carefully  concealed  and  fastftn- 
ed  in  a  well-chosen  spot,  hurriedly  plunged  forward,  into  the 
woods  with  a  precipitation  seemingly  intended  to  free  him 
from  the  anxieties  of  his  companion,  who  watched  his  progress 
for  a  few  moments  as  he  divided  the  bushes  in  his  flight. 
Thumbscrew  looked  after  him  with  all  the  concern  of  a  parent 
in  a  time  of  trying  emergency.  He  shook  his  head  appre 
hensively,  as,  leading  his  own  steed  forth  toward  the  highway, 
he  seemed  to  prepare  for  his  departure*!!!  the  direction  assign 
ed  him. 

He  had  scarcely  reached  the  road,  however,  when  the  ap 
proach  of  a  driving  horseman  struck  his  senses  and  arrested 
his  progress.  The  scout  drew  back  instantly  into  the  co\  er 
of  tiie  bush,  and,  placing  himself  in  a  position  which  would 
enable  him  to  retreat  at  advantage,  should  the  horseman  prove 
other  than  he  wished,  he  whistled  thrice  in  a  manner  peculiar 
to  the  men  of  Marion.  He  was  instantly  answered  in  the  same 
manner  by  the  horseman  who  drew  up  his  steed  with  the  ex 
change  of  signals.  Thumbscrew  at  once  emerged  from  the 
copse,  and  was  addressed  by  the  stranger  in  a  dialect  adopted 
among  the  partisans  for  greater  security.  Thumbscrew  replied 
by  what  would  seem  a  question. 

"  Owls  abroad  ?" 

"  Owls  at  home  !"  was  the  immediate  response  of  the  stran 
ger,  by  which  the  calling  in  of  the  scouts  to  the  main  body 
wns  at  once  signified  to  his  comrade.  He  continued,  as  they 
approached  each  other  — 

"What  owl  hoots?" 

"Thumbscrew,"  was  the  reply  of  Witherspoon,  giving  the 
familiar  name  by  which  hi-  companions  generally  knew  him. 


OWLS    ABROAD.  83 

"All,  Witlierspoon,"  said  the  other,  who  proved  to  be  Hum 
phries,  "  is  that  you  ?" 

"A  piece  of  me  — I  ain't  altogether  myself,  seeing  that  I 
ain't  in  a  good  humor  quite." 

"  Well,  stir  up,  for  you're  wanted.  The  boys  have  work  on 
hand,  and  the  '  fox' has  got  news  of  a  tory  gathering,  so  he's 
gon»  to  drinking  vinegar,  and  that's  sign  enough  to  show  us 
that  we  must  have  a  brush.  Major  Singleton  has  ordered  in 
our  squad,  and  looks  out  for  a  squall.  So  there's  news  foi 
you." 

"  I  reckon  I've  got  quite  as  much,  Humphries,  to  give  you 
back  for  it  in  return.  What  would  you  say,  now,  if  I  tell  you 
that  Barsfield  js  here,  within  five  hundred  yards  of  us,  with  a 
smart  company  of  red-jackets,  and  two  big  wagons  of  baggage?1' 

"No!" 

"  But  I  say  yes  !"  and  the  scout  then  proceeded  to  inform 
his  comrade  of  those  matters  in  reference  to  Barsfield's  arrival 
at  Piney  Grove  with  which  the  reader  has  already  been  made 
acquainted. 

Harnphries  listened  attentively,  then  exclaimed  — 

"  I  see  it,  Thumby  ;  Barsfield  is  to  meet  these  same  tories, 
ar.d  probably  take  the  lead  of  them.  Wo  heard  from  a  boy 
tl  v<  they  wore  to  gather,  but  he  could  not  say  who  was  to  com 
rrjird  'em;  and  the  general  thought  he  could  dash  in  among 
'en  tei'o.e  trey  could  get  arms  and  ammunition  for  a  start 
lU'/ll  have  more  work  now  than  he  thought  for." 

•Well,  avid  where  are  you  bent  now,  Humphries?  a'n't  ya- 
g!;ing  back  with  this  news,  I  tell  you?" 

••  Yes,  to  be  sure  ;  but  you  must  go  in  yourself  at  once,  i 
am  pushing  on  for  Davis,  and  Baxter,  and  little  Gwinn  :  they 
aie  ail  o  it  on  your  line.  We  want  all  the  muzzles  we  cam 
muster.  Where's  Mister  Mellichainps  ?" 

The  scout  answered  this  question  gloomily,  as  he  told  of  the 
adventurous  movement  of  the  youth  in  visiting  the  "Piney 
Grove"  while  it  was  in  the  possession  of  the  enemy,  and  of  his 
own  urgent  entreaties  to  prevent  it. 

"  It's  an  ugly  risk  lie's  taking,"  said  Humphries;  "but  what 
pan  you  do  —  you  can't  help  it  now?" 


84-  MKLLICITAMPE. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  think  I  cau,"  said  the  other,  quickly.  "  1 
can't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  leave  the  boy  in  the  hand  of  them 
Philistines,  and  so,  you  see,  Humphries,  soon  as  I  can  hide  my 
horse  in  the  hollow,  I'm  going  back  after  him.  I  won't  let 
him  see  me,  for  he's  mighty  ticklish  and  passionate,  and  may 
get  in  a  bad  humor  ;  but  I  can  keep  close  on  his  skirts,  and 
say  nothing — only,  if  harm  comes,  I  can  lend  him  a  helping 
hand,  you  see,  when  he  don't  look  for  it." 

"  Well,  you've  little  time,  and,  soon  as  you  let  him  know 
that  he's  wanted,  you  must  both  push  off  for  the  swamp. 
There's  a  branch  broke  across  the  road  at  '  My  Lady's  Fancy' 

—  the  butt-end  points  to   the  right  track;  and,  on  the  same 
line,  after  you  get   into   the  bush,  you'll  see  another  broken 
branch  just  before  you  ;  go  to  the  bush-end,  and  keep  ahead 

—  that'll    lead    you    down    to    the    first    sentry,    and    that's 
M'Donald,  I  think.     But  the  two  branches  a'n't  thirty  yards 
from  each  other;    so  that,  if  the  one   in   the  road  should  be 
changed  by  anybody,  you'll  only  have  to  look  round   in  the 
woods  till  you  find  the  other." 

Having  given  these  directions,  he  stooped  and  whispered 
the  camp  password  for  the  night  in  the  ears  of  his  attentive 
comrade :  — 

"Moultrie!" 

Putting  spurs  to  his  steed,  in  another  instant  he  had  left  the 
place  of  conference  far  behind  him.  Thumbscrew,  then,  re 
turning  to  the  wood,  carefully  placed  his  horse  in  hiding,  and 
proceeded,  according  to  the  silent  determination  which  he  had 
mrde,  upon  the  path  taken  by  his  young  companion.  He  was 
soc  n  in  the  thicket  adjoining  the  plantation,  and  resolute  to  do 
liis  best  to  save  the  youth,  over  whom  he  kept  a  watch  so 
pavernal,  from  any  of  the  evil  consequences  which  he  feared 
miht  follow  from  his  rashness. 


THUNDER   IN   A   CLEAK   SJiT. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THUNDER    IN    A    CLEAR    SKY. 

AT  the  hospitable  board  of  Mr.  Berkeley,  to  which  we  now 
return,  the  parties  appear  seated  precisely  as  wo  left  them. 
Their  condition  is  not  the  same,  however.  They  have  done 
full  justice,  during  our  absence,  to  the  repast,  and  to  their  own 
appetites,  rendered  more  acute  from  their  active  travel  of  the 
day.  The  first  rude  demands  of  hunger  had  been  satisfied ; 
the  urgent  business  of  the  table  was  fairly  over;  and  nothing 
now  remained  to  prevent  the  tory  captain  from  playing  the 
double  part  of  social  guest  and  earnest  lover.  His  position 
might  well  have  prompted  him  to  an  unwonted  effort  in  the 
presence  of  one  whose  favor  he  sought  to  win.  Not  so,  how 
ever.  BarsfielcC  though  bold  and  insolent  enough  with  a  rude 
troop  and-in  the  forest,  was  yet  abashed  in  the  presence  of  the 
beautiful  and  innocent  Janet.  He  was  one  of  those  instances, 
so  frequently  to  be  met  with,  of  a  man  possessed  of  energies 
of  mind  calculated  to  reach  distinction,  but  wanting  in  that 
delicacy  of  feeling  and  demeanor,  the  result  only  of  polished 
society,  which  alone  can  sustain  him  there  unembarrassed  and 
at  ease.  Too  harsh  in  his  habits  to  conciliate  without  an 
effort,  he  was,  at  the  same  time,  too  little  familiar  with  the  nice 
delicacies  and  acute  sensibilities  of  the  female  heart  to  maktf 
the  attempt  with  judgment;  and  we  find  him,  accordingly,  tl/e 
well-dressed  boor,  in  a  strange  circle,  endeavoring  to  clisgufee 
his  OWP  consciousness  cr  inadequacy  by  a  dashing  and  forward 
derjeamr,  which  had  a?.l  the  aspect  of  impertinence.  He 
made  sundry  efforts  to  engage  the  maiden  and  her  young  com 
panion  in  the  toils  of  conversation,  but  proved  far  less  suc 
cessful  than  Ms  second  in  command,  who  led  the  way  in  the 
suggestion  of  topics,  caught  up  the  falling  ends  of  chit-chat, 


.MKM.irilAMi'K. 


and,  with  all  the  adroitness  of  an  old  practitioner,  knotted 
tli cm  together  as  fast  as  his  superior,  in  his  clumsy  efforts  to 
do  likewise,  tore  them  asunder. 

Clayton  was  a  lively,  brisk,  ready  youth,  not  over  well- 
in  formed,  but  with  just  sufficient  reading  and  experience  to 
v.-hile  away  a  dull  hour  with  a  thoughtless  maiden.  Janet 
heard  him  with  respect,  but  said  little.  Rose  Duncan,  how 
ever,  had  few  restraints  —  certainly  none  like  those  restraining 
the  former  —  and  she  chatted  on  with  as  thoughtless  a  spirit  as 
if  there  had  been  no  suffering  in  the-lancl.  Barsfield  envied 
his  lieutenant  the  immense  gift  of  the  gab  which  the  latter 
possessed,  and  his  envy  grew  into  a  feeling  of  bitter  mortifi 
cation,  when  every  effort  of  his  own  to  engage  Janet  in  dia 
logue  failed  utterly,  and,  evidently,  quite  as  often  from  his 
own  inefficiency,  as  from  the  maiden's  reluctance,  to  maintain 
it.  A  quiet  "  Yes"  or  "  No"  was  the  only  response  which  she 
appeared  to  find  necessary  in  answer  to  all  his  suggestions ; 
and  these,  too,  were  uttered  so  colclly  and  so  calmly,  as  to  dis 
courage  the  otherwise  sanguine  tory  in  the  hope  that  maiden 
bashfulness  alone,  and  not  indifference,  was  the  true  cause  of 
her  taciturnity.  The  old  man,  her  father,  as  he  saw  the 
anxiety  of  Barsfield  to  fix  his  daughter's  attention,  and,  as  he 
hoped  to  conciliate  one  having  a  useful  influence,  strove  to 
second  his  efforts,  by  so  directing  the  course  of  the  conversa 
tion  as  to  bring  out  the  resources  of  the  maiden;  but  even 
his  efforts  proved  in  a  great  degree  unsuccessful.  Her  mind 
seemed  r.^t  a«  hyuie  in  all  the  scene,  and  exhibited  but  little 
sympathy  with  those  around  her.  To  those  who  looked  close 
ly,  and  could  read,  so  mysterious  a  language  as  that  of  a  young 
maiden's  eye,  it  might  be  seen  that,  in  addition  to  her  reluc- 
trmce  to  converse  with  Barsfield,  there  was  also  a  creeping  fear 
in  her  bosom,  which  chilled  and  fevered  all  its  elasticity.  As 
the  hour  advanced,  this  feeling  showed  itself  by  occasional 
unquiet  movements  of  her  eye,  which  glanced  its  sweet  fires 
fitfully  around,  as  if  in  searching  for  some  object  which  it  yet 
dreaded  to  encounter. 

This  state -of  disquietude   did  not  fail  to  strike  the   keen 
watchfulness  of  Barsfield,  whose  own  imperfect  success  only 


THUJSDEK,    IN    A    CLKAK    SKY.  87 

made  him  the  more  jealously  observant.  Though  unable  to 
win  the  heart  of  a  fair  lady,  he  was  yet  not  altogether  inca 
pable  of  perceiving  its  movements;  and  he  soon  discovered 
that,  in  addition  to  the  dislike  which  Janet  entertained  for  his 
pretensions,  there  was.  ground  enough  to  imagine  that  she  had 
far  less  aversion  to  those  of  another.  He  watched  her  the 
more  closely  from  this  reflection,  and  soon  had  assurance 
doubly  sure  on  the  subject  of  his  conjecture. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  supper  things  had  undergone  removal; 
the  several  persons  of  the  party  were  dispersed  about  the  room, 
the  two  ladies  occupying  the  sofa,  at  one  arm  of  which,  and 
immediately  beside '  Rose  Duncan,  sat  Lieutenant  Clayton, 
bending  forward,  and  exchanging  with  her  a  free  supply  of 
chit-chat,  sentimental  and  capricious.  Barsfield,  on  the  other 
hand,  addressed  his  regards  only  to  Janet,  who  sat,  statue-like 
and  pale,  seemingly  unmoved  by  all  she  heard,  and  with  that 
air  of  abstraction  and  anxiety  which  shows  the  thought  to  be 
far  distant.  There  was  a  dash  of  apprehension  also  in  her  air, 
such  as  the  young  fawn,  skirting  the  roadside  for  the  first 
time,  might  be  supposed  to  exhibit,  under  the  suggestion  of  its 
own  timid  spirit,  rather  than  of  any  real  danger  from  the 
approach  of  the  hunter.  This  expression  of  countenance,  how 
ever  the  maiden  might  labor  for  its  concealment,  was  yet 
sufficiently  evident  to  one  so  jealously  aroused  and  suspicious 
as  the  tory  captain  ;  and  he  could  not  forbear,  at  length,  as 
he  found  that  all  other  topics  failed  to  bring  about  a  regular 
conversation  with  her,  to  insinuate  his  own  doubts  of  that  per 
fect  composure  of  her  mind  which,  in  reply  to  his  inquiry,  her 
language  had  expressed,  but  which  he  did  not  think,  at  the 
same  time,  that  she  really  entertained. 

"  Something  surely  has  occurred  to.  trouble  you,  Miss  Berkeley 
—  some  unlucky  disaster,  no  doubt]  Your  favorite  nonpareil 
has  broken  bonds,  perhaps — your  mocking-bird  has  sung  his 
last  song  before  strangling  himself  between  his  wires  —  some 
thing  equally,  if  not  more  sad,  has  fastened  itself  upon  your 
spirits,  and  taken  the  wonted  color  from  your  cheeks.  Let  me 
sympathize  with  you  in  your  misfortune,  I  pray  you;  lot  me 
know  the  extent  and  the  cause  of  your  affliction." 


88  MELLICHAMPE. 

How  bitterly  ironical  was  the  glance  which  accompanied 
this  speech. 

"  Rather  say,"  replied  the  laughing  Rose,  quickly  and 
archly,  as  she  btfheld  the  annoyance  which  the  words  of  the 
tory  had  brought  to  her  cousin,  "  rather  say  that  she  dreads 
some  danger  to  her  favorite — that  she  has  seen  some  threaten 
ing  hawk  hovering  over  her  dovecot,  and  dreads  momently 
that  he  will  pounce  upon  the  covey,  and — " 

"  Rose  !  Rose  Duncan  !"  hurriedly  exclaimed  Janet,  with  a 
most  appealing  glance  of  her  eye,  for  she  knew  the  playful 
character  of  her  companion ;  "  No  more  of  this,  Rose,  I  beg 
you.  I  am  not  in  the  humor  for  sport  this  evening.  I  beg 
that  you  will  desist.  I  am  not  well." 

"  Oh,  if  you  beg  so  prettily,  and  so  humbly  too,  I  have  done, 
coz.  I  would  not  vex  you  for  the  world,  particularly  Avhen  you 
surrender  so  quietly  at  discretion.  But,  really,  I  have  no 
other  way  to  revenge  myself  for  the  sarcasms  I  am  made  to 
endure  by  Mr.  Clayton  ;  he  is  ronlly  so  witty  —  so  very  excru 
ciating." 

She  turned,  as  she  spokr,  \,  hli  a  full  glance  of  her  arch 
blue  eye  upon  Clayton,  and  with  an  expression  of  face  so 
comically  sarcastic,  that  she  even  succeeded  in  diverting  the 
glance  of  Barsfield  from  the  face  of  her  cousin  to  that  of  his 
lieutenant.  Clayton  laughed  sillily  in  reply,  and  strove  to 
meet  the  sarcasm  with  as  much  good-nature  as  would  disarm 
it.  He  replied  at  the  same  time  playfuly  to  Rose,  and  the 
conversation  went  on  between  them.  This  little  episode  —  the 
allusion  of  Rose,  though  innocently  made  on  her  part,  was 
calculated  to  increase  as  well  the  apprehensions  of  Janet,  as 
the  suspicions  of  Barsfield  ;  and  he  determined  not  to  yield  the 
point,  but,  if  possible,  pressing  it  still  more  home,  to  see  if  he 
could  not  elicit  some  few  more  decided  proofs  of  that  disquiet 
of  the  heart  under  which  Janet  so  evidently  labored.  He  was 
not  troubled  with  those  gentlemanly  scruples  which  should 
have  produced  a  pause,  if  not  a  direct  arrest,  of  such  a  deter 
mination.  On  the  contrary,  he  knew  of  no  principles  but  those 
which  were  subservient  to  the  selfish  purposes  of  a  coarse,  un 
polished  soul. 


THUNPKR    IN    A    OLKAIi    SKY.  89 

-  This  allegory  of  your  fair  friend,  Miss  Berkeley,  would 
scoin  not  altogether  wanting  in  some  direct  application,  if  one 
may  judge  from  the  degree  of  annoyance  which  it  occasions 
you.  Is  it  true  that  some  favorite  dove  is  in  danger — does  the 
hawk  really  hang  over  head  ;  and  am  I  to  trace  in  the  likeness 
of  the  one,  a  wild  rebel,  an  outlaw  of  the  land  —  some  senti 
mental  robber  of  the  swamp  —  and,  in  the  other,  the  vigilant 
sentinel  of  an  indulgent  monarch,  keeping  watch  over  the  fold 
and  protecting  it  against  the  excursive  marauder?  If  so,  it 
which  of  these  two  shall  I  hold  Miss  Berkeley  to  be  so  greatly 
interested  ?" 

Mr.  Berkeley  eagerly  bent  forward  to  hear  the  answer  of  his 
daughter;  and  even  Blonay,  who  had  withdrawn  himself 
humbly  into  a  corner  of  the  room,  seemed  to  comprehend  some 
thing  of  the  matter  in  hand,  and  stretched  out  his  long  neck, 
while  his  blear  eyes  peered  into  tho.se  which  the  maiden  now 
iixed  upon  her  questioner. 

<(  I  am  not  good,  sir, -at  solving  riddles,"  was  her  calm  reply; 
"and  really  can  not  undertake  to  say  to  what  your  present 
remark  should  refer.  Perhaps  you  arc  right,  however,  in  com 
paring  to  the  innocent  bird,  in  danger  from  the  lurking  fowler, 
the  outlaw  whom  you  call  the  rebel.  The  hawk,  sir,  stands 
well  enough  for  the  pursuer.  But,  if  these  comparisons  be  true, 
there  is  no  danger  to  us,  I  assure  you,  as  I  myself  believe, 
even  should  the  outlaw  become  the  marauder." 

And  here  she  paused,  and  her  eyes  were  withdrawn  from 
the  person  to  whom  she  had  spoken.  The  tory  bit  his  lip  ; 
and,  though  he  strove  with  that  object,  failed  to  suppress  the 
dissatisfaction  which  her  speech  had  occasioned.  Taking  up 
her  reply,  which  had  been  evidently  left  unfinished,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  carry  out  the  sentence. 

"  But  there  is  danger,  you  would  say,  from  the  latter.  Let 
me  remove  your  fears,  Miss  Berkeley.  The  hawk  will  watch 
over  his  charge  without  preying  upon  it,  as  you  shall  sec.  I 
am  not  unwilling  to  appear  before  you  as  one  of  the  brood,  and 
you  and  yours  shall  be  secure  in  the  protection  I  shall  bring 
you  against  any  lurking  rebel  in  your  swamps." 

"  I  believe  not  that  we  have  much  to  fear  from  that  quarter. 


UU  MKLLICIIAMPK. 

Mr.  Bnratn'.ld,  provided  none  but  Marion's  men  get  into  them 
They  never  trouble  us." 

"  Ijut,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  we  are  none  the 
less  indebted  to  Captain  Barsfield  for  his  aid  and  assistance. 
It  is  true,  captain,  we  have  not  suffered  much  if  any  loss  yet 
from  the  people  who  are  out;  but  times  may  change,  captain, 
and  there's  no  knowing  how  soon  your  kind  assistance  may 
be  of  the  utmost  importance.  We  should  not  be  ungrateful, 
Janet." 

"  I  would  not,  father,"  responded  the  maiden,  meekly ; 
"  Captain  Barsfield  has  my  thanks  for  the  aid  he  has  proffered 
us,  though  I  still  think  we  shall  not  find  it  necessary.  Our 
home  has  always  been  a  quiet  one,  and  has  been  respected  by 
all  parties.  My  father,"  and  here  she  turned  to  Barsfield  with 
i.  free  and  fearless  glance,  "My  father  is  an  invalid,  and  can 
not  take  any  part  in  the  war  which  is  going  on;  and  while  he 
extends  his  hospitality  to  all,  without  distinction,  he  may  well 
hope  to  need  little  of  the  aid  of  either  in  defending  him  from 
any.  It  is  as  little,  under  these  circumstances,  as  we  can 
require,  that  our  guests  shall  forbear  the  use  of  language  which 
might  either  give  us  pain,  as  it  refers  contemptuously  or  un 
justly  to  our  friends  and  those  Avhom  we  esteem,  or  must  in 
volve  us  in  the  controversy  which  we  should  better  avoid. 
Captain  Barsfield  will  forgive  me  if  I  am  unwilling  to  listen  to 
the  abuse  of  my  countrymen." 

The  manner  of  the  maiden  was  so  dignified  as  to  silence 
farther  controversy.  Barsfield  submitted  with  a  very  good 
grace,  though  inwardly  extremely  chafed  at  the  resolute  and 
unreserved  manner  in  which  she  spoke  of  those  whom  he 
had  denounced  as  rebels,  and  to  whose  patriotic  conduct  his 
own  had  been  so  unhappily  opposed.  He  strove,  however,  not 
merely  to  subdue  his  ill-humor,  but  to  prove  to  her  that  it  had 
given  way  to  better  feelings;  and,  with  a  due  increase  of 
courtesy,  he  arose,  and  would  have  conducted  her  to  the  fine 
old  harpsichord,  which  formed  a  most  conspicuous  article  of 
the  household  furniture  in  the  apartment.  She  declined,  how 
ever,  to  perform,  in  spite  of  every  compliment  which  he  could 
bestow  upon  her  skill  and  voice,  with  both  of  which  he  ap 


TllL'NhKi:     IN     A    CLKAJi    SKY. 

peared  to  be  familiar.  Her  father  added  liis  solicitations  also  ; 
but  slie  pleaded  unpreparedness  and  her  own  indisposition 
so  firmly,  that  the  demand  was  at  length  given  up.  The 
lieutenant,  however,  was  more  successful  with  the  inconsiderate 
and  laughing  girl  who  sat  beside  him.  She  offered  no  scruples 
—  said  she  loved  to  play  and  sing  of  all  things  in  the  world; 
and,  taking  her  seat  in  the  midst  of  her  own  jest  and  laughter, 
touched  the  keys  with  a  free  finger,  that  seemed  perfectly  at 
home,  while  she  sang  the  following  little  ditty,  with  a  fin«s 
p.lear  voice  which  filled  the  apartment : — 

L 

Though  grief  assail  thee,  young  heart, 

And  doubt  be  there, 

And  stone-eyed  care, 
And  sickness  ail  thee,  young  heart, 

Love  on  —  love  on. 

IL 
A  greater  anguish,  young  heart, 

Than  these  can  be, 

Should  love,  in  thee, 
For  ever  languish,  young  heart!  — 

Love  on  —  love  on. 

% 

ra. 
Life's  choicest  pleasure,  young  heart, 

Can  only  wait 

On  her  whose  fate 
Makes  love  her  treasure,  young  heart 

Love  on  —  love  on. 


And  know  that  sorrow,  young  heartv 

And  wo,  and  strife, 

Belong  to  life, 
And  are  love's  horror,  young  heart  I  - 

Love  on  —  love  on. 


They  fear  his  glances,  young  heart. 

And  fleet  away 

As  night  from  day, 
When  he  advances,  young  heart  — 

Love  on — love  on. 


MELL1CHAMPE. 

VL 
A  happy  comer,  young  heart, 

Love's  earliest  bird 

May  now  be  heard, 
With  voice  of  summer,  young  heart  ~ 

Love  on  —  love  on. 

vn. 
Around  thee  springing,  young  heart, 

Bird,  leaf,  and  flower, 

That  fill  thy  bower, 
Are  ever  singing,  young  heart  — 

Love  on  —  love  on. 

While  the  song  of  Rose  was  yet  trilling  in  their  ears,  a  faint 
i  ut  distinct  whistle  penetrated  the  apartment.  The  quick  and 
jealous  sense  of  Barsfield  was  the  very  first  to  hear  it ;  and, 
from  the  corner  where  he  sat  crouching,  the  long  neck  of  Bio- 
nay  might  have  been  seen  suddenly  thrust  out,  as  his  head 
leaned  forward  to  listen.  The  eye  of  the  tory  captain  invol 
untarily  turned  upon  the  face  of  Janet  Berkeley  :  a  deeper 
paleness  had  overshadowed  it;  and,  though  she  did  not,  and 
dared  not,  look  in  the  direction  of  her  observer,  she  well  knew 
that  his  gaze  was  fastened  upon  her,  and  this  knowledge  in 
creased  her  confusion.  The  suspicions  of  Barsfield,  always 
active,  were  doubly  aroused  at  the  present  moment,  though, 
with  the  policy  of  a  practised  soldier,  he  yet  took  especial  care 
to  conceal  them. 

It  was  curious  to  look  on  the  half-breed  all  the  while.  The 
instinct  of  the  scout  had  awakened  into  a  degree  of  conscious 
ness  with  that  whittle,  which  all  the  sweet  music  of  Rose  Dun 
can,  to  which  he  had  been  listening,  could  never  have  pro 
voked.  His  thought  was  already  in  the  woods;  and,  like  some 
keen  hound,  his  mood  began  to  grow  impatient  of  restraint,  and 
to  hunger  R:?im  tiie  close  chase  an:  llii  bloody  fray.  The  eye. 
of  Bkisfield,  turning  from  the  fa>3  j"  t.ie  maiden,  was  fixed 
upon  him,  and,  with  his  hani'tin"  caution,  Blonay,  as  he  saw 
himself  observed,  drew  in  his  h-iiul,  which  now  rested  with  his 
usual  listnessness  upon  his  shoulder,  whils  he  seemed  to  lapse 
away  into  his  accustomed  stupor 


THUNDER    IN    A    CLEAR    SKY.  93 

The  signal,  if  such  it  were,  was  again  repeated,  and  closer 
at  band.  A  faint  smile  curled  the  lips  of  the  toiy  captain,  and 
his  glance  again  settled  upon  the  face  of  Janet.  She  strove 
to  encounter  that  glance  of  inquisitive  insolence,  but  her  heart 
was  too  full  of  its  fears.  She  could  not  —  her  eye  sank  away 
from  the  encounter,  and  the  suspicions  of  the  tory  were  con 
firmed. 

"  There's  a  signal  for  somebody,"  was  his  careless  remark. 

"A  signal!"  exclaimed  Clayton  and  Rose,  in  th-o  same 
breath. 

"  A  signal !"  said  Mr.  Berkeley,  in  alarm. 

"Yes,  a  signal  —  and  the  signal  of  one  of  Marion's  men," 
was  the  reply  of  Barsfield.  "  lie  has  strayed  this  time  into 
the  wrong  grounds,  and  will  be  laid  by  his  heels  if  he  heed 
not  his  footsteps." 

The  hands  of  Janet  were  clasped  involuntarily,  and  a  prayer 
ful  thought  was  rapidly  springing  in  her  mind,  while  her  heart 
beat  thick  with  its  apprehensions. 

"Why  do  you  think  it  a  signal  of  Marion's  men,  captain?" 
was  the  inquiry  of  Clayton;  "may  it  not  be  the  whistle  of 
some  idler  among  our  own  V' 

"  No ;  he  might  run  some  risk  of  a  bullet  if  that  were  the 
case.  Our  loyalists  know  these  sounds  too  well  not  to  prick 
their  ears  when  they  hear  them.  That  whistle  is  peculiar,  and 
not  so  easily  imitated.  There  —  you  hear  it  again!  The 
enemy  is  daring,  if  he  be  an  enemy ;  if  a  friend,  he  is  not 
less  so." 

"  It  may  be  one  of  the  negroes,"  was  the  timidly-expressed 
suggestion  of  Mr.  Berkeley. 

"  Miss  Berkeley  will  scarcely  concur  with  you  in  that  con 
jecture,"  was  the  sarcastic  response  of  Barsfield,  while  his  eye 
scrutinized  closely  and  annoyingly  the  rapidly-changing  color 
upon  her  cheeks.  As  he  gazed,  her  emotion  grew  almost  in 
supportable,  and  her  anxiety  became  so  intense  as  to  be  per 
ceptible  to  all.  Her  eyes  seemed  not  to  regard  the  company, 
but  were  fixed  and  wild  in  their  frozen  stare  upon  a  distant 
window  of  the  apartment.  That  glance,  so  immoveable  and 
*o  full  of  earnest  terror,  proved  a  guide  to  that  of  the  tory 


94  MKLLICIIAMI'K. 

He  read,  in  its  intensity  of  gaze,  a  further  solution  of  the  mys 
tery  ;  and,  turning  suddenly  in  the  same  direction,  the  secret 
was  revealed.  The  distant  but  distinct  and  well-known  fea 
tures  of  Ernest  Mellichampe  were  clearly  seen  through  the 
pane,  looking  in  over  the  head  of  Blonay,  from  the  piazza  to 
which  he  had  ascended.  The  movement  of  Barsfield  was  in 
stantaneous.  With  a  fierce  oath  he  clashed  from  his  seat,  and, 
seizing  his  sabre,  which  lay  upon  a  neighboring  table,  rushed 
toward  the  entrance.  The  movement  of  Janet  Berkeley  was 
not  less  sudden.  She  darted  with  a  wild  cry,  something  be 
tween  a  shriek  and  a  prayer,  and  stood  directly  in  his  path 
way —  her  eye  still  iixed  upon  the  window  where  her  lover 
stood  —  her  heart  still  pleading  for  his  safety  —  her  arm  uplifted 
for  his  defence. 

"  Let  me  pass,  Miss  Berkeley  !"  were  the  hurried  words  and 
stern  demand  of  the  tory. 

"Never  —  never — I  will  perish  first!"  she  exclaimed,  inco 
herently  and  unconsciously,  in  reply. 

He  extended  his  arm  to  put  her  aside,  and  by  this  time  the 
\vholc  party  had  arisen  from  their  seats,  wondering  at  what 
they  saw.  for  they  were  ignorant  of  the  knowledge  possessed 
by  the  tory.  The  father  of  the  maiden  would  have  interposed, 
and  Rose  Duncan,  surprised  and  terrified,  also  came  forward  ; 
but  Janet  Berkeley  heeded  them  not.  Furious  at  the  inter 
ruption,  Barsfield  cried  out  to  Clayton  to  pursue. 

"The  rebel  Mellichampe!"  was  his  cry;  "  he  is  in  the  pi 
azza  now  ;  he  was  but  this  instant  at  the  window.  Pursue 
him  with  all  the  men  —  cut  him  to  pieces  —  give  him' no  quar 
ter —  fly  !" 

The  form  of  Janet  filled  the  doorway  :  her  arms  were  ex 
tended. 

"Mercy!"  she  cried;  "mercy,  mercy!  Fly  not  —  pursue 
him  not:  he  is  gone  —  he  is  beyond  your  reach.  Mercy  — 
have  mercy  !" 

They  put  her  aside,  and  Barsfield  hurried  through  the  door. 
She  caught  his  arm  with  a  nervous  grasp,  and  clung  to  him  in 
the  fervor  of  a  desperation  growing  out  of  her  accumulating 
terrors.  He  broke-  furiously  away  from  lu-r  hold,  and  she  sank 


'W    41     f?7/RAR    SKY.  5 

fainting  and  exhausted,  bui  still  conscious  of  her  lover's  dan 
ger,  at  full  length  along  the  floor.  They  were  gone  in  the 
pursuit,  the  tory  captain  and  his  lieutenant ;  but  Blonay,  though 
he  had  risen  with  the  rest,  still  remained  in  the  apartment. 
The  old  father  tottered  to  his  daughter  in  consternation,  and 
strove,  with  the  assistance  of  Rose,  to  lift  her  from  the  ground. 
In  his  own  rude  way,  and  trembling,  too,  at  the  idea  of  his 
near  approach  to  one  so  super:' o-*.  Tonay  proffered  his  assist 
ance. 

"  The  poor  gal,"  he  exclaimed  m  ;ri53  c::  unwonted  pity, 
while  lifting  her  to  the  sofa  —  "  tin  poo:^  ga]p  she's  main  fright- 
ered  new,  I  tell  you !" 

"My  child —my  ^hild ! —  speak  A,o  ma>  ray  Janet!  Look 
npon  n*e!  —  it  is  year  father,  Janet'  Look  up  to  me,  my 
G?,U£-l:t^>!" 

Bier  eyes  unclosed,  and  her  lips  wera  &:.  j?ed  in  correspondence 
witJi  the  a^cciziug  thoughts  and  apprehensions  of  her  soul. 

"  Mellic'is-i:  pe — rash,  rasa  Mailiscimpe  !  Oh,  father,  they 
will  take  —  they  w:ll  murder  ';ir_  !'* 

"Fear  not,  my  child,  fezi  x ct,';  was  the  father's  reply,  his 
own  accents  full  of  t'bc.t  ve*y  i?ear  which  he  required  that  she 
should  not  feel.  "  Fear  nothing;  this  is  my  house  —  these  are 
my  grounds.  They  shall  not — no,  my  daughter,  they  dare 
not — touch  a  hair  of  the  head  of  Mellichampe." 

But  the  daughter  knew  better  than  her  father  his  own  weak 
ness  and  the  insecurity  of  her  lover,  and  she  shook  her  head 
mournfully,  though  listening  patiently  to  all  his  efforts  at  con- 
Rolation.  In  that  moment  the  father's  love  of  his  child  grew 
conspicuous.  He  hung  over  her,  and  sobbed  freely  like  an 
infant.  He  said  a  thousand  soothing  things  in  her  ears ;  pre 
dicted  a  long  life  of  happiness  with  her  lover;  strove  to  reas 
sure  her  on  every  topic  of  their  mutual  apprehension ;  and,  on 
his  own  tottering  frame,  with  the  assistance  of  Rose  Duncan, 
helped  her  to  the  chamber  whose  repose  she  seemed  so  impera 
tively  to  require. 


•H£ 

WIVERS/TY 

.. 


JJi/Ai'TKK    XI. 


THK  mo  vein -i  t  >.'  r-ai-sfield  was  almost  as  soon  perceived 
by  MeJii"Uam*j3  <»>'  it  hac.  been  by  Janet  Berkeley,  lie  saw, 

at  a  glance,  the  abrupt  spring  which  the  tu?y  made  frcm  b\s 
chair;  and,  conjecturing  the  cause  of  hi??  emotion,  lie  prepared 
himself  for  flight.  Though  ra"sh  in  the  extreme,  he  w<is  not  so 
much  of  (he  madman  as  to  dare  the  contest  with  such  a  force 
as  Barsfield  could  bring  ng.*inst  him  :  yet  lo&tli.wae  l_e,  indeed, 
to  fly  before  so  hated  an  er.?,:ry. 

"  Oh,  could  we  Ijut  cross  v.  e-toons  p.lorie  hi  that  deep  forest, 
with  no  eye  upon  us  but  those  I-.ss.ver..*y  watchers,  and  the  grim 
spirits  that  lio\'ei'  around  and  exu.t  \:  the  good  stroke  which 
is  struck  for  vengeance!  Could  we  there  meet,  Bar sfi eld  — 
but  this  hour — 1  would  ask  nothing  more  from  Heaven  !" 

This  was  the  prayer  of  Mellichampe  ;  these  were  his  words, 
muttered  through  his  clinched  teeth,  as,  turning  from  the  win 
dow,  lie  placed  his  hands  on  the  light-  railing  of  the  balcony, 
and,  heedless  of  the  height  —  something  over  fifteen  feet  — 
leaped,  with  a  fearless,  yet  bitter  heart,  into  the  yard  below. 

He  had  come,  agreeably  to  his  appointment  with  the  maiden, 
and,  as  we  have  seen,  in  spite  of  all  the  solicitations  of  his 
Iriend  and  comrade.  He  had  uttered  his  accustomed  signals 
—  they  had  been,  of  necessity,  disregarded.  Vexed  and  fever 
ish,  his  blood  grew  more  phrensied  at  every  moment  which  he 
was  compelled  to  wait ;  and,  at  no  time  blessed  with  patience,  he 
had  adopted  the  still  more  desperate  resolution  of  penetrating 
to  the  very  dwelling  which  contained  the  maiden  whom  he 
loved.  What  to  him  was  the  clanger  from  an  enemy  at  such  a 
moment,  and  with  feelings  such  as  his  /  What  were  those 


SCIPIO.  97 

feelings  —  what  the  fears  which  possessed  him  ?  Patient  and 
reckless,  liis  feelings  and  his  thoughts  did  equal  injustice  to 
her  and  to  himself. 

"  She  forgets  —  she  forswears  me  like  all  the  rest.  He  seeks 
her,  perhaps,  and  she— ha!  what  hope  had  the  desperate  and 
the  desolate  ever  yet  from  woman,  when  pomp  and  prosperity 
approached  as  his  rival  ?" 

lie  little  knew  the  maiden  whom  he  so  misjudged ;  but  it 
was  thus  that  he  communed  with  his  own  bitter  spirit,  when 
he  made  the  rash  determination  to  penetrate  to  the  dwelling, 
from  the  deep  umbrageous  garden  in  its  rear,  where,  hitherto, 
the  lovers  had  been  accustomed  to  meet,  in  as  sweet  a  bower 
as  love  could  have  chosen  for  a  purpose  so  hallowed. 

But,  though  rash  almost  to  madness  in  coming  to  the  dwell 
ing,  Mellichampe  was  not  so  heedless  of  his  course  as  to  forget 
the  earnest  warnings  which  Witherspoon  had  given  him.  In 
approaching  the  house  he  had  taken  the  precaution  to  survey 
all  the  premises  beforehand.  The  grounds  were  all  well  known 
to  him,  and  he  made  a  circuit  around  them,  by  which  means 
he  discovered  the  manner  in  which  the  encampment  of  the 
troop  was  made,  and  how,  and  where,  the  sentinels  were  post 
ed.  These  he  surveyed  without  exposure,  and,  though  imme 
diately  contiguous  on  more  than  one  occasion  to  the  lounging 
guard,  he  escaped  without  challenge  or  suspicion.  From  the 
park'he  stole  back  into  the  garden.  Emerging  from  its  sliel- 
'er.  ho  advanced  to  the  rear  of  the  building,  and,  passing  under 
tVj  piazza  which  encompassed  it,  he  stole  silently  up  the  steps, 
.-••night  the  window,  looked  in  upon  the  company,  and  was 
compelled,  as  we  have  seen,  to  fly. 

He  was  now  in  the  court  below ;  and,  as  the  bustle  went  on 
above,  he  paused  to  listen  and  to  meditate  his  course.  Mean 
while  the  alarm  was  sounded  from  the  bugle  of  the  troop.  The 
commotion  of  their  movement  distinctly  reached  his  ears,  and 
he  leaped  off  fleetly  but  composedly  among  the  trees,  which 
concealed  his  flight  toward  the  garden,  just  as  the  rush  of 
Barsfield  and  Clayton  down  the  steps  of  the  piazza  warned 
him  of  the  necessity  of  farther  precipitation.  At  that  moment, 
darting  forward,  he  encountered  the  person  of  one  who  was 


98  MELLICHAMPE. 

advancing.  He  had  drawn  li is  knife  in  the  first  mon  .  nt  of 
his  flight,  and,  looking  now  only  for  enemies,  it  had  nearly 
found  its  sheath  in  the  breast  of  the  stranger,  when  the  tones 
of  his  voice  arrested  the  fugitive. 

"Ha,  Mass  Arnest,  dat  you?  Lord  'a  massy,  you  'most 
knock  the  brcat  out  my  body." 

"  Silence,  Scip  —  not  a  word,  villain.  I  am  pursued  by  tho 
tories.  Would  you  betray  me  V  were  the  hurried  and  em 
phatic,  but  suppressed  words  of  Mellichampe. 

"  'Tray  you,  Mass  Arnest  —  how  come  you  tink  so?  Enty 
da  Sip  —  you  truss  Sip  always,  Mass  Arnest  —  truss  'em  now," 
was  the  prompt  reply  of  the  negro,  uttered  in  tones  similarly 
low. 

"  I  will,  Scip  —  I  will  trust  you.  Barsfield  is  upon  me,  and 
I  must  gain  the  garden." 

"  No  go  dere.  Tory  sodger  jist  run  'long  by  the  garden 
fence." 

"  Where  then,  old  fellow  ?" 

The  negro  paused  for  a  moment,  and  the  clattering  of  the 
sabres  was  now  heard  distinctly. 

"  Drop,  Mass  Arnest,  drop  for  dear  life  close  behind  dis 
tree.  Hug  'em  close,  I  yerry  dem  coming." 

"  I  have  it,"  said  the  youth,  coolly,  to  the  bewildered  negro, 
as  the  sounds  denoted  the  approach  of  the  pursuers  to  thai- 
quarter  of  the  area  in  which  this  brief  conference  had  been 
carried  on  — 

"  I  have  it,  Scip.     I  will  lie  close  to  this  fallen  tree,  and  dc 
you  take  to  your  heels  in  the  direction  of  the  woods.     To  th*' 
ight,  Scip  —  and  let  them  see  you  as  you  run." 

"How  den,  Mass  Arnest — wha  de  good  ob  dat?" 

"Fly,  fellow,  they  come  —  to  the  right,  to  the  right." 

With  the  words  Mellichampe  threw  himself  prostrate,  close 
beside  a  huge  tree  that  had  been  recently  felled  in  the  enclo 
sure,  while  the  faithful  negro  darted  off  without  hesitation  in 
the  direction  which  had  been  pointed  out  to  him.  In  anothei 
moment  a  body  of  the  troopers  was  scattered  around  the  tree. 
Bounding  over  it  in  all  directions.  Barsfield  led  the  pursuit, 
nd  animated  it  by  his  continual  commands.  The  scene 


scirlo.  99 

diversified  by  the  rushing  tumults  and  the  wild  cries  of  the 
pursuers,  and  it  was  not  many  minutes  before  the  chase  was 
encouraged  by  a  glimpse  which  they  caught  of  the  flying 
negro.  At  once  all  feet  were  turned  in  the  one  direction. 
Soldier  after  soldier  passed  in  emulous  haste  over  the  log 
where  Mellichampe  lay,  and,  when  the  clamor  had  sunk  away 
in  the  dictance,  he  rose  quietly,  and  coolly  listening  for  a  few 
seconds  to  the  distant  uproar,  he  stole  cautiously  back  into 
the  garden,  in  the  crowded  shrubbery  and  thick  umbrage  of 
which  he  might  have  readily  anticipated  a  tolerable  conceal 
ment  while  the  night  lasted  from  all  the  troop  which  Barsfield 
could  muster.  Here  he  could  distinguish  the  various  sounds 
and  stages  of  the  pursuit;  now  spreading  far  away  to  the  fields 
and  on  the  borders  of  the  park  —  and  now,  as  the  adroit  Scipio 
doubled  upon  his  pursuers,  coming  nigher  to  the  original  start 
ing-place.  But  whether  it  was  that  Scip's  heart  failed  him, 
or  his  legs  first,  may  not  be  said.  It  is  enough  to  know  that 
he  began  to  falter.  His  enemies  gained  ground  rapidly  upon 
mm.  He  passed  into  a  briar-copse,  and  lay  close  for  a  while, 
though  torn  by  their  thorns  at  every  forward  movement,  in  the 
hope*to  gain  a  temporary  rest  from  the  pursuit ;  but  the  chase 
tracked  him  out,  and  its  thick  recesses  gave  him  no  shelter 
The  sabres  were  thrust  into  the  copse  in  several  places,  and, 
dreading  their  ungentle  contact,  the  hunted  negro  once  more 
took  to  his  heels.  He  dashed  forward  and  made  for  a  little 
pine  thicket  that  seemed  to  promise  him  a  fair  hope  foi 
concealment;  but,  when  most  sanguine,  an  obtrusive  vine 
zaught  his  uplifted  foot  as  he  sprang  desperately  forward,  and, 
w/r/'  *  neavy  squelch  that  nearly  too"k  the  breath  out  of  Inn 
b:dy,  he  lay  prostrate  at  the  mercy  of  his  enemy.  Barsfield 
himself  was  upon  him.  With  a  fierce  oath  and  a  cry  of  tri 
umph  he  shook  his  sabre  over  his  head,  and  threatened  instant 
death  to  the  supposed  Mellichampe.  The  poor  negro,  though 
not  unwilling  to  risk  his  life  for  the  youth,  now  thought  it  high 
time  to  speak ;  and,  in  real  or  affected  terror,  he  cried  aloud 
in  language  not  to  be  mistaken, 

"Don't  you  chop  a  nigger  with  your  sword  now,  I  tell  you- 


100  MKLLICIIAMPE. 

Gor  A'mighty,  Mass  Cappin,  you  no  guine  kill  a  poor  uigger 
da's  doing  nothing  at  all  /" 

JBarsfield  recoiled  in  astonishment,  only  to  advance  upon  the 
crouching  black  with  redoubled  fury  ;  and  he  might  have  used 
the  uplifted  weapon  simply  from  the  chagrin  and  disappoint 
ment,  but  that  a  stronger  motive  restrained  him.  With  the 
btrcngth  and  rage  of  a  giant,  he  hurled  the  negro  back  to  the 
ground  whence  he  had  now  half  risen,  and  fiercely  demand 
ed  of  him  why  he  had  fled  from  the  pursuit. 

"Ki !  Mass  Cappin,  you  ax  a  nigger  wha'  for  he  run.  when 
you  fuss  run  at  'em  wid  you'  big  sword,  and  want  to  chop  'em 
wid  it.  Da's  'nough  to  make  a  nigger  run,  I  'speck.  No  nig 
ger  nebber  guine  'tand  for  dat." 

"  Scoundrel !  do  not  trifle  with  me,"  was  the  fierce  reply 
"  You  have  seen  young  Mellichampe." 

"Who  dat — Mass  Arnest?  No  see  'em  to-night  Mass  Cap- 
pin." 

"  Scoundrel !  you  are  lying  now.  I  know  it.  You  have  hid 
den  him  away.  Lead  us  to  the  spot,  or  put  us  upon  his  track 
so  that  we  find  him,  or,  by  the  Eternal !  I  swing  you  up  to 
these  branches." 

The  negro  solemnly  declared  his  ignorance,  but  this  did  not 
satisfy  the  tory. 

"  I3isper.se  your  men  over  the  grounds  —  the  park  —  the  gar 
den  —  on  all  sides.     The  rebel  must  be  hereabouts  still.     He 
can  not  have  gone  far.     Leave  me  but  a  couple  of  stout  fellow 
to  manage  this  slave." 

Clayton  was  about  to  go,  when  the  words  of  Barsfield  ui 
tercd  in  a  low,  freezing  Zone  of  determination,  reached  his  ear. 

"  And,  hear  you,  Clayton  —  no  quarter  to  the  spy  —  hiw  hm- 
icv/ii  without  a  word." 

The  lieutenant  departed,  leaving  the  two  men  whom  his 
superior  had  required.  One  of  those,  in  obedience  to  the  com 
mand  of  Barsfield,  produced  a  stout  cord,  which  was  conve 
niently  at  hand,  from  his  pocket. 

*  Wha'  you  guine  do  now,  Mass  Cappin  ?"  cried  the  negro, 
beginning  to  be  somewhat  alarmed  at  the  cold-blooded  sort  of 
preparation  which  the  soldier  was  making. 


SCIPIO.  101 

"  You  shall  see,  you  black  rascal,  soon  enough,"  was  the 
reply. 

"Noose  it  now,  Drummond,"  was  the  order  of  the  tory. 

It  was  obeyed,  and  in  another  moment  the  cord  encircled 
the  neck  of  the  terrified  Scipio. 

"  Confess  now,  sir — confess  all  you  have  done — all  that  you 
know.  Have  you  not  seen  the  rebel  to-night  1" 

"Which  one,  Mass  Cappm?" 

"  No  fooling,  fellow.  You  know  well  enough  who  I  mean—- 
the  rebel  Mellichampe." 

"Wha'— Mass  Amest?" 

"  Ay." 

"  No,  sa,  Mass  Gappin.  It's  trute  wha'  I  tell  you  now.  1 
bery  glad  for  see  Mass  Arnest,  but  I  a'n't  seen  'em  dis  tree 
day  and  seven  week.  He's  gone,  day  say,  high  up  the  San- 
tee,  wib  do  rest." 

"  And  you  haven't  seen  him  to-night  1" 

"Da's  a  trute  —  I  no  see'm  to-night." 

"A  d d  lie,  Scipio,  which  must  be  punished.  Tuck  him 

up,  Drummond." 

"  Hab  a  pity  on  poor  nigger,  Mass  Cappin  !  It's  a  nigger 
is  no  wort  salt  to  be  hom'ny.  Hab  a  pity  on  poor  nigger.  Ah, 
Mass  Barsfield,  you  no  guine  hang  Scip  ?  I  make  prayers  for 
you,  Mass  Barsfield,  you  no  hang  Scip  dis  time." 

The  negro  implored  earnestly  as  the  design  appeared  more 
determinately  urged  by  the  tory.  He  was  seriously  terrified 
with  the  prospect  before  him,  and  his  voice  grew  thick  with 
horror  and  increasing  alarm. 

"  Confess,  then,  or,  by  God  !  you  swing  on  that  tree.  Tell 
all  that  you  know,  for  nothing  else  can  save  you." 

'I  hab  noting  to  tell,  Mass  Cappin.  I  berry  good  nigger, 
da's  honest,  sa,  more  dan  all  <Je  rest  of  massa's  niggers,  only  I 
will  tief  Bacon,  Mass  Cappin.  I  can't  help  tief  bacon  when  I 
git  a  chance,  massa.  Da's  all  la's  agen  Scip,  Mass  Cap- 
pin." 

There  was  so  much  of  simplicity  in  Scipio's  mode  of  defence, 
that  Barsfield  half  inclined  to  believe  that  he  was  really  ignor 
ant  of  the'  place  of  Mellichampc's  concealment;  but,  as  he 


102  MKJJ.ICl'AMPK. 

well  knew  that  Scipio  was  a  favorite  family-servant,  and  re 
markable  for  his  fidelity,  he  did  not  doubt  that  he  would  keep 
a  secret  concerning  one  so  long  intimate  with  it  as  Mellichampe 
r<>  tlie  very  last  moment.  This  suggestion  hastened  his  de 
cision.  With  the  utmost  composure  he  bade  the  soldier  exe 
cute  his  office,  and  looked  on  calmly,  and  heard  without  heed 
ing  the  many  adjurations,  and  prayers,  and  protestations  of 
the  negro,  desperately  urged,  as  they  hurried  him  to  the  tree, 
over  a  projecting  limb  of  which  one  end  of  the  rope  was  already 
thrown. 

"  Will  you  tell  now,  Scipio?"  demanded  Barsfield  of  the 
slave,  in  a  tone  of  voice  absolutely  frightful  to  him  from  its 
gentleness.  "Tell  me  where  Mellichampe  ran  —  tell  where 
you  have  concealed  him,  and  I  let  you  go  ;  but,  if  you  do  not, 
you  hang  in  a  few  moments  on 'this  very  tree." 

"  I  no  see'm,  Mass  Cappin  —  he  no  run,  he  stan'  in  de  same 
place.  Hab  a  pity,  Mass-Cappin,  'pon  Scipio,  da's  a  good  nig 
ger  for  old  massa,  and  da's  doing  noting  for  harm  anybody." 

"Once  more,  Scipio  —  where  is  the  rebel?  —  where  is  Melli 
champe  ?" 

"Da  trute,  Mass  Cappin,  T  don't  know." 

"  Pull  him  up,  men." 

The  cruel  order  was  coolly  given,  and  in  tones  that  left  no 
room  in  the  minds  of  the  soldiers  to  doubt  that  they  were  to 
execute  the  hurried  sentence.  Struggling,  gasping,  and  labor 
ing  to  speak,  Scipio  was  lifted  into  air.  He  kicked  desper 
ately,  sought  to  scream,  and  at  length,  as  the  agony  of  his 
increasing  suffocation  grew  more  and  more  oppressive,  and  in 
feeble  and  scarcely  intelligible  accents,  he  professed  his  wil 
lingness  now  to  do  all  that  was  required  of  him. 

"I  tell  —  I  tell  ebbry  ting,  Mass  Oappin  —  cut  de  rope,  da's 
all.  I  tell  —  cut  'em  fass  —  lose  'em  quick.  Oh  —  he  da  mash 
my  head  —  I  choke." 

The  cord  was  relaxed  with  the  utterance  of  this  promise. 
The  victim  was  suffered  to  sink  down  upon  the  ground,  where, 
for  a  few  momenta,  he  crouched,  half  sitting,  half  lying,  almost 
exhausted  with  struggling,  and  seemingly  in  a  stupor  from  the 
pain  and  fright  he  had  undergone.  But  Barsfield  did  not  mucb 


SCH'IO.  108 

regard  his  sufferings.  He  took  the  negro  at  his  word,  and, 
impatient  for  his  own  revenge,  hurried  the  movements  of  the 
poor  creature.  The  rope  was  still  twined  about  his  neck,  and 
thus,  kept  in  continual  fear  of  the  doom  which  had  heen  only 
suspended,  he  was  required  to  lead  the  way,  and  put  the  pur 
suers  upon  the  lost  trail  of  the  fugitive. 


104  MELLICCAICTB. 


CHAPTER    XIL 

THE    TRAIL    LOST. 

"  COME,  dr —  away  —  put  us  on  the  track  of  the  rebel.  Show 
where  he  is  hidden  —  and,  hark  you,  Scipio  — not  a  word  — 
no  noise  to  tell  him  we  are  coming,  or — "• 

The  threat  was  left  unfinished,  hut  it  was  neveitheless  suf 
ficiently  well  understood.  The  reply  of  the  negro  was  char 
acteristic. 

"  Gor  A'mighty,  Mass  Barsfield,  enty  I  guine?  You  no 
'casion  push  a  nigger  so.  Ef  you  was  to  hang  mo  up  agen,  I 
couldn't  go  no  more  faster  dan  I  does." 

Ho  led  the  way  freely  enough  ;  but  it  was  not  the  intention 
of  Scipio  to  betray  the  trust  of  Mcllichampe,  even  if  it  had 
been  in  his  power  to  lead  them  to  the  place  of  his  concealment. 
His  object  was  simply  to  escape  a  present  difficulty.  He  had 
no  thought  beyond  the  moment.  With  this  object,  with  the 
natural  cunning  of  the  negro,  and  the  integrity  of  the  faithful 
slave,  he  framed  in  his  mind  a  plan  of  search,  which,  while  it 
should  be  urged  on  his  part  with  all  the  earnestness  of  truth, 
should  yet  still  more  effectually  mislead  the  pursuers.  Scipio 
was  one  of  those  trusty  slaves  to  be  found  in  almost  every  na 
tive  southern  family,  who,  having  grown  up  with  the  child;  en 
of  their  owners,  have  acquired  a  certain  correspondence  of  feel 
ing  with  them.  A  personal  attachment  had  strengthened  the 
bonds  which  necessity  imposed,  and  it  was  quite  as  much  ^ 
principle  in  Scipio's  mind  to  fight  and  die  for  his  owners,  as  to 
work  for  them.  Regarding  his  young  mistress  with  a  most  un 
varying  devotion,  he  had  been  made  acquainted  at  an  early 
period  with  the  nature  of  the  tie  which  existed  between  her 
self  and  Mellichainpe,  and  many  were  the  billets  and 


THE    TKAIL    LOST.  105 

of  love  wliich  had  been  confided  by  the  tv/o  to  fecipio,  during 
the  unsophisticated  courtship  wliich  had  bean  carried  on  be 
twecn  them.  Proud  of  the  confidence  reposed  in  him,  and  fond 
of  the  parties,  the  trust  of  Mellichampe  was  sacred  in  his  keep 
ing  ;  and,  at  the  moment  of  his  greatest  danger,  when  the  rope 
was  about  his  neck,  and  his  life  depended  upon  one  whom  ho 
well  knew  to  be  merciless  and  unforgiving,  he  never  once  con 
ceived  the  idea  of  effecting  his  escape  by  a  revelation  of 
any  secret  which  might  have  compromised,  in  the  slightest 
degree,  either  Mellichampe  or  the  maiden.  He  now  purposely 
led  the  tory  from  his  object,  trusting  to  his  good  fortune  or  his 
wit  to  relieve  him  from  all  subsequent  emergencies. 

It  does  not  need  that  we  should  show  how,  in  the  prosecu 
tion  of  his  scheme,  the  adroit  negro  contrived  to  baffle  the  vin 
dictive  Barsfield.  lie  led  him  from  place  to  place,  to  and  fro, 
uo\v  here,  now  there,  and  through  every  little  turn  and  wind 
ing  of  the  enclosure  in  front  of  the  dwelling,  until  the  patience 
of  the  tory  became  exhausted,  and  he  clearly  saw  that  his 
guide  had  deceived  him.  For  a  moment  his  anger  prompted 
him  to  prosecute  the  punishment  with  which  he  had  sought  at 
first  to  intimidate  the  negro.  But  a  fear  of  the  influence  of 
such  a  proceeding  upon  the  maiden  induced  a  more  gentle  de 
termination. 

It  was  not,  probably,  the  intention  of  Barsfield  to  carry 
into  .effect  the  threatened  doom  —  his  design  was  rather  to  pro 
cure  the  required  intelligence  by  extorting  a  confession.  He 
was  now  persuaded,  so  well  had  Scipio  played  his  part,  that 
the  fellow  was  really  ignorant.  Finding  that  his  long  pas 
sages  invariably  led  to  nothing,  he  dismissed  him  with  a  hearty 
curse  and  kick,  and  hurried  away  to  join  Clayton,  who,  mean 
while,  had  been  busied  in  the  examination  of  the  garden.  The 
lieutenant  had  not  been  a  whit  more  successful  than  his  cap 
tain  ;  for  Mellichampe,  the  moment  that  he  heard  the  pursuit 
tending  in  the  quarter  where  he  had  concealed  himself,  simply 
moved  away  from  his  lair,  and,  leaping  the  little  rail  fence, 
which  divided  the  garden  from  the  forest,  found  himself 
almost  immediately  in  the  shelter  of  a  dense  body  of  woods, 
which  would  have  called  for  five  times  the  force  of  Bavsfi^ld  tc 


MKLUCIIA.Ml'K. 


ferret  him  out  in  at  night.  Familiar  of  old  with  the  region, 
which  had  been  consecrated  in  "the  walks  and  worship  of  love, 
he  strolled  off  to  a  favorite  tree,  not  thirty  yards  from  the 
fence,  in  an  arm  of  which,  sheltering  himself  snugly,  he  lis 
tened  with  scornful  indifference  to  the  clamors  of  that  hot  pur 
suit  which  the  tory  still  continued.  He  saAv  the  torches  bla 
zing  in  the  groves  where  he  had  crouched  but  a  little  while 
before,  and  almost  fancied  that  he  could  distinguish  at  mtei<- 
vals  the  features  of  those  who  bore  them,  and  sometimes  even 
the  lineaments  of  that  one  deadliest  enemy,  whom  of  all  the 
world  he  most  desired  on  equal  terms  to  encounter. 

The  _chase  was  at  length  given  over.  Barsfield  was  too 
good  a  scout  himself  not  to  know  that  the  woods  in  the  rear 
of  the  garden  must  contain  the  fugitive.  He  was  quite  too 
familiar,  however,  with  the  nature  of  a  Carolina  thicket  to 
hope  for  any  successful  result  of  pursuit  and  search  in  that 
quarter.  And  yet  he  still  looked  with  straining  eyes  upon  its 
dense  and  gloomy  spots,  as  if  longing  to  penetrate  them.  Had 
he  been  strong  enough  in  men  —  could  he  even  have  spared 
the  force  which  he  had  under  his  command  for  any  such  pur 
pose,  he  would  not  have  hesitated  for  an  instant  ;  but,  tinder 
existing  circumstances,  the  risk  would  have  been  rash  and 
foolish,  to  have  exposed  so  small  a  body  of  men  to  the  possi 
bility  of  contact  with  a  lurking  enemy.  He  little  knew  that 
the  particular  foe  was  alone  —  and  that,  even  at  the  moment 
when  these  meditations  were  passing  through  his  mind,  his 
hated  rival  sat  looking  composedly  down  upon  the  unavailing 
toil  of  his  long  pursuit,  How  many  circumstances  were  there 
in  his  past  history  to  make  him  detest  the  fugitive  !  How 
many  interests  and  feelings,  active  at  the  moment  in  his  bosom, 
to  make  him  doubly  desire  to  rid  himself  of  one  so  inimical  — 
M>  greatly  in  his  way  !  He  turned  from  the  garden  in  a  bitter 
mood  of  disappointment.  The  fever  of  a  vexing  fear  and  of  a 
sleepless  discontent  was  goading  him  with  every  additional 
moment  of  thought,  and  kept  him  from  all  appreciation  of  the 
beauty  of  the  rich  flowers  and  those  sweet  walks  which,  in  the 
intercourse  of  Mellichampe  and  Janet,  had  made  a  fitly  associ 
ated  scene.  He  felt  \othing  of  the  garden's  beauties  —  its 


TI1K    TRAIL    LOST.  107 

sweet  solemnity  of  shade  —  its  refreshing  fragrance --its  slen 
der  branches  and  twining  shrnbs,  that  quivered  and  mur 
mured  in  the  night  breeze;  or  of  that  exquisite  Art  in  the  dis 
position  of  its  groves  and  flowers,  which,  concealing  herself  in 
their  clustering  folds,  peeps  out  only  here  and  there,  as  if  in 
childlike  and  innocent  sport  with  her  sister  Nature. 

Having  made  his  .camp  arrangements  for  the  night.  Barsfield 
Ijft  Clayton  in  command  of  the  troop,  still  occupying  the  park 
as  at  their  coming,  and  proceeded  once  more  to  the  dwelling. 
Mr.  Berkeley  awaited  his  approach  at  the  entrance.  The  old 
gentleman  was  in  no  little  tribulation.  The  presence  of  Mel- 
lichampe  at  such  a  time  in  his  grounds,  and  under  circum 
stances  which  seemed  to  indicate  the  privity  of  one  or  more  of 
the  household  to  his  visits,  was.  calculated,  he  well  knew,  to 
make  Barsfield  suspicious  of  his  loyalty.  It  was  his  policy, 
and  he  was  solicitous  to  prove  to  the  tory  that  the  youth  re 
ceived  no  manner  of  encouragement  from  him  ;  that  his  presence 
was  unlooked-for,  and,  if  not  contrary  to  his  commands,  was  at 
least  without  his  sanction.  He  also  well  knew  the  aim  of 
Barsfield  with  reference  to  his  daughter,  and  it  was  not  less 
his  object,  on  this  account,  to  impress  the  tory  with  the  idea 
of  his  own  ignorance  on  all  subjects  which  concerned  the  rebel. 
In  tremulous  accents,  confusedly  and  timidly,  he  strove  to  win 
the  ear  of  his  sullen  and  dissatified  guest. 

"•I  am  truly  happy  — Ah  !  I  mean  I  am  very  sorry,  Captain 
Barsfield—"  and  here  he  paused  — the  words  were  too  contra 
dictory,  and  his  first  blunder  frightened  him  ;  hut  Barsfield, 
who  also  had  his  game  to  play,  came  to  his  relief  hy  inter 
rupting  him  in  his  speech. 

"  Sorry  for  what,  Mr.  Berkeley  1  What  should  make  yon 
s«»rry  1  You  have  nothing,  that  I  can  see,  to  be  sorry  for. 
Your  house  is  haunted  by  a  rebel,  and,  though  yon  may  not 
encourage  him,  and  I  suppose  do  not,  I  yet  know  that  hitherto 
yon  have  been  unable  to  drive  him  thoroughly  away.  It  L- 
your  misfortune,  sir,  but  will  not  be  a  misfortune  much  longer. 
You  will  soon  he  relieved  from  tins  difficulty.  My  force  in  a 
short  time  will  be  adequate  to  clear  the  country  in  this  quartei 
**  the  troop  of  outliers  that  haunt  it ;  and  this  duty,  sir,  1  I'ave 


108  MKLLICJIAMI'E. 

now  in  charge.  Leave  it  to  me  to  manage  the  youngster  —  1 
shall  make  my  arrangements  for  his  capture,  and  he  can  not 
long  escape  me.  Once  taken,  he  troubles  neither  of  us  again, 
He  swings  for  it,  sir,  or  there  is  no  law  in  the  land/' 

This  discourse  confounded  the  old  gentleman.  He  was 
not  unwilling  to  he  thought  free  from  any  collusion  with 
Mellichampe,  but  the  youth  was  ft  favorite.  The  bitter 
speech  of  Barsfield,  and  the  final  threat,  totally  unmanned 
his  hearer,  and  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  made  tremulous  by  his 
emotion  — 

"What!  Ernest  Mellichampe —  hang  Ernest  Mellichampe, 
captain  ?  Why,  what  has  the  poor  youth  done?" 

"Done!"  exclaimed  the  other;  "done,  Mr.  Berkeley? 
Why,  sir,  is  he  not  one  of  that  traitorous  brood  of  Max  Melli 
champe,  who  was  so  fierce  an  enemy  of  his  king;  so  merciless 
in  fight,  and  so  uncompromising  in  whatever  related  to  this 
struggle?  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  serve  my  sovereign,  as 
you  know,  by  killing  him  ;  and,  from  what  has  been  shown  to 
me  of  this  young  man,  I  shall  do  my  country  no  less  a  service 
by  sending  him  after  his  father." 

"  Oh,  ay,  captain  —  but  that  was  in  fight.  Of  course  Ernest, 
if  he  lifts  arms  against  our  sovereign,  must  take  his  chance 

like  any  other  soldier  in  battle,  but " 

"  He  has  incurred  another  risk  to-night,  Mr.  Berkeley  —  he 
has  penetrated  into  my  line  of  sentinels  as  a  spy." 

The  tor}'  silenced  the  well-intentioned  speaker.  They  en 
tered  the  hall,  where  Blonay  still  sat,  alone,  and  in  as  perfect 
a  condition  of  quiet  as  if  there  had  not  been  the  slightest 
uproar.  Glancing  his  eye  quickly  around  the  apartment,  and 
seeing  that  none  other  was  present,  Barsfield  approached  the 
half-breed  with  a  look  of  stern  severity,  and,  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  shoulder,  he  thus  addressed  him  :  — 

"  Hark'ee,  fellow  ;  you  pretend  to  be  a  good  loyalist — you 
have  got  Proctor's  certificate  to  that  effect  —  why  did  you 
not  seek  to  take  the  rebel,  when  you  were  so  much  nigher 
the  entrance  than  any  one  of  the  rest?  Did  you  not  see 
him?" 

"  Well,  cappin,  I  reckon  I  did  see  him  when  he  looked  into 


THE   TRAIL    LOST.  iO& 

the  glass,  but  I  didn't  know  that  lie  was  a  rebel,     I  didn't  see 
no  harm  in  his  looking  in  the  glass." 

"  But  ^  hen  I  moved  —  when  I  pursued  —  did  you  not  see 
that  he  was  my  enemy  ?" 

"  That's  true,  cappin  ;  but  that  was  jist  the  reason,  now,  I 
didn't  go  for' ad.  I  seed  from  your  eyes  that  he  was  your 
enemy,  and  I  know'd  from  what  you  did  you  wanted  to  git  a 
lick  at  him  yourself,  and  so  I  wouldn't  put  in.  Every  man 
paddle  his  own  canoe,  says  I ;  and,  if  I  has  an  enemy,  I 
shouldn't  like  to  stand  by  and  let  another  man  dig  at  his  throat 
to  spile  my  sport,  neither  would  you,  I  reckon.  It's  no  satis 
faction  for  one  man  to  jump  between  and  take  away  another 
man's  pleasure,  as  I  may  say,  out  of  his  mouth." 

The  code  of  Blonay  was  new  to  Barsfield,  though,  from  ito 
expression,  he  at  once  well  understood  the  prevailing  char 
acter  of  the  speaker.  It  was  for  Barsfield  to  desire  that  his 
enemy  should  perish,  no  matter  by  whose  hands — the  passion 
of  Blonay  prompted  his  own  execution  of  every  deed  of  per 
sonal  vengeance,  as  a  duty  incumbent  on  himself.  A  few 
words  farther  passed  between  them,  in  which  the  tory  hoped 
he  had  secured  the  services  of  the  half-breed,  of  whose  value 
he  had  conceived  a  somewhat  higher  idea  from  the  strange 
reason  which  he  hud  given  for  his  quiescence  in  the  pursuit  of 
Mellichampe.  This  over,  the  tory  captain  signified  his  deter 
mination  to  retire,  and,  with  a  cordial  "Good  night!"  to  his 
host,  he  left  the  room,  and  was  instantly  conducted  to  his 
chamber. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  apartment  of  the  two  cousins,  a  far  dif 
ferent  scene  had  been  going  on.  There,  immersed  in  her  own 
fears  and  apprehensions,  Janet  Berkeley  listened  in  momently- 
increasing  terror  to  every  sound  that  marked  the  continued 
pursuit  of  her  lover.  As  the  clamor  drew  nigh  or  receded, 
her  warm  imagination  depicted  the  strait  of  Mellichampe  ; 
and  it  was  only  when,  after  the  departure  of  Barsfield  for  tho 
night,  when  her  father  could  seek  her  chamber,  that  she  heard 
the  pleasing  intelligence  of  the  tory's  disappointment.  It  was 
tnen  that  the  playful  Rose,  as  she  saw  that  the  apprehensions 
,f  her  cousin  were  now  dissipated,  gently  reproached  Janet 


110  MELLTCH  AMPE. 

for  the  want  of  confidence  which  she  had  shown  in  not  un 
folding  to  her  the  secret  which  the  excitement  of  the  preceding 
event  had  too  fully  developed. 

"  To  carry  on  a  game  of  hide-and-seek  so  slyly,  Janet  —  ts 
have  a  lover,  yet  no  confidant  —  no  friend,  and  I,  too,  so  noar 
at  hand.  I  who  have  told  yon  all,  and  kept  nothing  back,  an  3 
would  have  locked  up  your  secret  so  closely  that  no  rival,  no 
mama,  no  papa,  should  have  been  the  wiser.  And  such  a  fine 
subject  for  talk,  Janet,  in  these  long,  sweet  summer  nights  — 
now,  when  all  is  quiet,  and  there  is  nothing  of  a  cloud,  dear, 
to  be  seen.  Look,  dearest,  see  what  a  beautiful  night." 

"  I  have  no  heart  for  it,  Hose  —  none.  I  am  very  unhappy," 
•vas  the  sad  response  of  the  afflicted  maiden. 

"  Serve  you  right ;  you  deserve  to  be  sad,  Janet,  if  only  for 
**eing  so  sly  and  silent.  Why,  I  ask  you  again,  why  didn't 
you  let  me  into  the  secret  ?  I  could  have  helped  you." 

"Alas,  Rose,  this  secret  has  been  too  oppressive  to  me  not 
to  make  me  desire  frequently  to  unfold  it;  but,  as  I  have  no 
hope  with  my  love,  I  thought  better  to  be  silent." 

"  And  why,  dearest,"  exclaimed  the  other,  "why  should  you 
have  no  hope?  Why  should  your  love  never  be  realized? 
Think  you  that  Mellichampe  is  the  man  to  play  you  false  V 

"No — oh  no!  lie  would  not — he  could  not.  He  is  too 
devoted — too  earnest  in  all  that  he  does  and  feels,  svir  to 
forget  or  deny.  But  it  has  been  a  sad  engagement  throughout 
—  begun  in  sorrow,  and  strife,  and  privation,  and  carried  cv. 
in  defiance  of  all  danger,  and  with  an  utter  regardlessness  of 
all  counsel.  God  knows,  I  so  misgive  these  visits,  that  1 
should  rather  he  would  be  false  to  me  than  that  he  chould 
come  so  frequently  into  danger  of  his  life." 

"  Now  out  upon  thee,  cousin  —  how  you  talk  !  This  danger 
H  the  very  sweetness,  and  should  not  be  a  dampener  of  love. 
If  the  man  be  what  he  should  be,  he  will  not  heed,  but  rathei 
desire  -it,  as  in  stimulating  his  adventure  it  will  also  stimulate 
his  feeling  and  his  ilame.  For  my  part,  I  vow  that  I  would 
not  have  one  of  your  tame,  quiet,  careful  curs  —  your  hous. 
liold  husbands,  who  would  wither  do  nor  dare,  but  squa; 
like  overgrown  labliics  in  tlic,  chimney  corner,  pas;- 


THE    TRAIL    LOS1.  Ill 

away  a  long  life  of  tedium  in  a  protracted  and  monotonous 
humming.  If  ever  I  get  a  lover,  which,  Heaven  knows,  seems 
but  a  doubtful  prospect  at  this  moment,  I  vow  he  should  have 
no  quiet — he  should  be  required  to  do  just  what  you  fret  thai 
\rellichampe  is  now  doing.  He  should  scale  fences  and  walls 
ford  creeks  when  there's  a  freshet,  and  regularly  come  to  visit 
me  through  the  swamp  ;  and  this  he  must  prove  to  me  thai 
he  has  done,  by  a  fair  exhibition  of  his  bespattered  bootrf  and 
garments.  As  for  difficulties  such  as  these  frightening  a  lover 
from  his  purpose,  I  would  not  give  my  name  for  any  lover 
who  would  not  smile  upon,  while  overcoming  them." 

In  a  sadder  tone  than  ever,  Janet  replied  to  tie  playful 
girl,  who  continued  to  run  on  and  interrupt  her  a'  intervals 
wherever  her  speech  seemed  more  desponding  than  usual. 

"  It  is  not  mere  difficulties,  Rose,  but  positive  daggers,  that 
I  dread  for  Ernest;  and,  but  that  I  know  he  will  not  heed  my 
words  in  such  a  matter,  I  should  utterly,  break  with  him,  and 
for  ever,  if  it  were  only  to  keep  him  away  from  the  risk  into 
which  he  plunges  with  little  or  no  consideration.  Twice  or 
thrice  has  he  nearly  fallen  a  victim  to  this  same  man,  Bars- 
field,  who  has  a  desperate  hatred  toward  him " 

"  And  a  desperate  love  for  you,"  said  the  other. 

"  Which  is  quite  as  idle,  Rose,  as  the  other  is  rash,"  replied 
Janet,  calmly,  to  the  interruption.  "Vainly  have  I  implored 
him  to  desist — to  forbear  seeking  or  seeing  me  until  the  danger 
and  the  war  are  over  ;  and,  above  all,  to  avoid  our  plantation, 
where  my  father  is  too  timid  and  too  feeble  to  serve  him  when 
there  is  danger,  and  where  I  am  certain  that  spies  of  the  tories 
are  always  on  the  watch  to  report  against  any  of  the  whig? 
who  may  be  stirring." 

"  And,  like  a  good,  stubborn,  whole-hearted  lover,  Melli- 
champe  heeds  none  of  your  exhortations  that  would  keep  him 
away.  Heaven  send  me  such  a  lover  !  He  should  come  when 
he  pleased,  and,  if  I  prayed  him  at  all,  it  should  be  that  he 
would  only  leave  me  when  I  pleased.  I  would  not  trouble  him 
with  frequent  orders,  I  assure  you." 

"  Ah,  Rose  !  would  I  had  your  spirits  !" 

M  Ah,  Janet !  would  I  had  your  lover  !     He  is  just  the  lover 


1 12  MELLICHAMPE. 

now,  that  I  desire ;  and  these  perils  that  he  seems  to  seek,  and 
this  rashness  of  which  you  complain,  commend  him  warmly 
to  my  imagination.  Poor  fellow !  I'm  only  sorry  that  he 
should  have  his  labor  for  his  pains  to-night;  and  must  go  back 
the  way  he  came,  without  getting  what  he  came  for." 

•'  Ileaven  grant  that  he  may,  Rose !"  said  the  other,  earn 
estly  ;  "  but  do  you  know  that  even  this  alarm  will  scarcely 
discourage  Ernest  Mellichampe  ?  He  has  promised  to  come 
to-night,  and  exacted  my  promise  to  meet  him  under  the  great 
magnolia.  I  am  persuaded  that  he  will  keep  his  word,  in 
spite  of  all  the  dangers  that  beset  him.  He  is  bold  to  hardi 
hood,  and  I  look  not  to  sleep  to-night  until  I  have  heard  his 
signal." 

"  Confess,  confess,  Janet,  that  you  will  sit  up  in  the  hope  to 
hear  it." 

"Not  in  the  hope  to  hear  it,  Rose,  but  I  will  sit  up  —  at 
least  for  some  time  longer.  I  could  not  sleep  were  I  to  go  to 
bed,  under  the  anxiety  which  the  belief  that  he  will  come 
must  occasion  in  my  mind.  But  you  need  not  wait  for  me." 

"  I  will  not  —  I  should  be  very  peevish  were  I  to  hear  a 
love-signal,  and  have  no  share  in  the  proceedings.  I  am  cer 
tainly  a  most  unfortunate  damsel,  Janet,  having  a  heart  really 
so  susceptible,  so  very  much  at  the  mercy  of  my  neighbors, 
without  having  one  neighbor  kind  enough  to  help  me  in  its 
management."  And  thus,  rattling  on,  the  thoughtless  girl 
threw  herself  upon  her  conch,  and  was  soon  wrapped  in  pleas 
ant  slumbers.  Janet,  sad  and  suffering,  in  the  meanwhile 
turned  to  the  open  window,  unconsciously  watching  the  now 
rising  moon,  while  meditating  the  many  doubts  and  misgivings, 
the  sad  fears  and  the  sweet  hopes,  of  a  true  heart  and  a  warm 
ly  interested  affection. 


SECRF/I    PURPOSES.  118 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

SECRET  PURPOSES. 

BARSFIELD  sought  his  clian.bcr,  hut  not  to  sleep.  Some  ac 
tive  thought  was  in  possession  of  his  mind,  operating  to  ex 
clude  all  sense  of  weariness,  and,  indeed,  almost  to  make  him 
forget,  certainly  entirely  to  overlook,  the  previous  fatigues  of 
the  day.  He  paced  his  room  impatiently  for  several  minute? 
before  he  perceived  that  the  servant  was  still  in  waiting. 
When  he  did  so,  he  at  once  dismissed  him  ;  but,  immediately 
after,  called  him  hack. 

"  Who's  that  —  Tony  V 

"  Yes,  sa." 

"Where  does  the  traveller  —  the  blear-eyed  fellow  —  sleep 
to-night,  Tony  V 

"  In  de  little  shed-room,  Mass  Cappin. 

"  Does  it  lock,  Tony  V 

"  He  hah  bolt  inside,  sir." 

"  'Tis  well ;  take  this ;  you  may  go  now." 

He  gave  the  negro,  as  he  dismissed  him,  an  English  shilling, 
which  called  forth  a  grin  of  acknowledgment  and  a  liberal 
scraping  of  feet.  Alone  the  tory  captain  continued  to  pace  up 
and  down  the  apartment,  absorbed  seemingly  in  earnest  medi 
tation.  But  his  thoughts  did  not  make  him  forgetful  of  the 
objects  around  him.  He  went  frequently  to  the  windows,  not 
to  contemplate  the  loveliness  of  the  night,  but  to  see  whether 
all  was  quiet  in  the  little  world  below.  His  frequent  approach 
to  his  own  chamber-door,  which  he  opened  at  intervals,  and 
from  which  he  now  and  then  emerged,  had  a  like  object;  and 
this  practice  was  continued  until  all  sounds  had  ceased  ;  until 
all  the  family  seemed  buried  in  the  profound est  slumber 


114  MELLICIIAMPE. 

Cautiously,  then,  he  took  his  way  from  his  own  apartment, 
and  proceeding  through  the  gallery,  he  soon  reached  th  j  little 
shed-room  to  which  Blonay  had  been  assigned.  He  paused 
for  a  single  instant  at  the  entrance,  then  rapped  lightly,  and 
was  instantly  admitted.  For  a  brief  space  the  eyes  of  Blonay 
failed  to  distinguish  the  person  of  the  intruder.  A  few  embers 
in  the  fireplace,  the  remnants  of  the  light-wood  brands  which 
had  shown  him  his  couch,  yielded  a  blaze,  but  one  too  imper 
fect  for  any  useful  purpose.  The  voice  of  Barsfield,  however, 
immediately  enlightened  the  half-breed. 

"  A  friend,"  said  the  tory,  in  a  tone  low,  carefully  low,  ana 
fall  of  condescension.  "  A  friend,  and  one  who  needs  the  ser 
vices  of  a  friend.  I  have  sought  you,  Mr.  Blonay,  as  I  have 
reason  to  believe  I  can  rely  on  you.  You  have  the  certificate 
of  Major  Proctor,  a  sufficient  guaranty  for  your  loyalty ;  but 
our  brief  conversation  this  evening  has  convinced  me  that  you 
are  able,  as  well  as  loyal,  and  just  the  man  to  serve  my  pur 
poses." 

The  tory  paused,  as  if  in  expectation  of  some  answer ;  and 
Blonay,  so  esteeming  it,  proceeded  in  his  own  way  to  the  ut 
terance  of  many  professions,  which  might  have  been  unneces 
sarily  protracted  had  not  the  Impatience  of  his  visitor  inter 
posed. 

"  Enough !  I  believe  that  you  may  be  relied  on,  else  I  should 
not  have  sought  you  out  to-night.  And  now  to  my  businesK 
You  heard  me  say  I  had  an  enemy  ?" 

The  reply  was  affirmative. 

"That  enemy  I  would  destroy— utterly  annihilate  —  for 
several  reasons,  some  of  which  are  public,  and  others  private. 
He  is  a  rebel  to  the  king,  and  a  most  malignant  and  unforgiv 
ing  cue.  His  father  was  such  before  him,  and  him  I  had  the 
good  fortune  to  slay.  The  family  estate  has  become  mine 
through  the  free  grant  of  our  monarch,  in  consideration  of  my 
good  services  in  that  act.  *Do  you  hear  mo,  sir?" 

"  Reckon  I  do,  cappin,"  was  the  reply  of  the  half-breed. 

"  Then  you  will  have  little  difficulty  in  understanding  my 
desire.  This  son  is  the  only  man  living  who  has  any  natural 
claim  to  that  estate  in  the  event  of  a  change  of  political  sir 


SECRET    PURPOSES.  115 

cumstances  which  shall  throw  back  the  powpr  of  our  sovereign. 
In  such  an  event,  he  would  be  the  proper  heir;  and  w.ould, 
with  reason,  opyose  his  claim  to  mine.  That  claim  would  be 
valid  and  ini'^ntestable,  most  probably,  under  any  change  of 
eircum stan etc,  were  he  once  put  out  of  the  way.  For  this 
reason,  if  for  none  other,  I  would  destroy  him." 

"  And  reason  enough,"  responded  Blonay,  "  to  kill  a  dozen 
rebels." 

"  True ;  but  there  are  yet  other  reasons  :  lie  has  aspersed 
me,  denounced  me  to  my  face,  on  the  commencement  of  this 
war,  and  under  circumstances  which  prevented  me  from  seek 
ing  any  atonement.  In  arms  I  have  never  yet  been  able  to  en 
counter  him  ;  as,  from  his  good  knowledge  of  the  swamp,  he 
rer.dily  eludes  my  troop.  He  is,  besides,  attended  by  a  fellow 
who  watches  over  his  safety,  and  follows  and  guards  his  every 
movement;  and  there  are  few  men  who  manage  with  so  much 
sKi1.  and  adroitness  as  the  man  in  question.  He  is  only  to  be 
reached  by  one  in  a  persevering  search  —  one  who  would  not 
turn  an  inch  from  his  course,  but,  like  the  bloodhound,  keep 
close  upon  the  track  without  suffering  anything,  not  even  force, 
to  divert  him  from  his  object.  Such  a  man  I  hold  you  to 
be." 

Blonay  thanked  the  tory  for  his  good  opinion,  and  the  lat 
ter  proceeded. 

"  You  are  for  killing  your  enemy  with  your  own  hand.  I  am 
indifferent  who  kills  mine,  so  that  he  ceases  to  trouble  me. 
The  man  who  slays  him  for  me  is  as  much  my  instrument  as 
the  knife  which,"  in  your  hand,  does  the  good  deed  for  you. 
Besides,  even  had  I  this  desire,  I  could  only  pursue  it  at 
great  sacrifice.  I  should  be  compelled  to  give  up  my  public 
duties,  which  are  paramount.  I  should  be  compelled  to  go 
single-handed,  and  play  the  part  of  an  outlier  in  the  swamps 
along  with  those  whom  I  attempt  to  overreach.  I  am  too  well 
known  by  them  all  ever  to  hope  to  win  their  confidence;  and  the 
very  nickname  which  they  have  conferred  upon  me  for  my  ad 
herence  to  my  sovereign,  if  repeated  in  my  ears,  as  it  would 
be  by  this  taunting  youth  in  question,  would  only  drive  my 
blood  into  a  more  foolish  and  suicidal  rebellion  than  is  theirs. 


(16  MELLICIIAMl'E. 


other  man  —  some  single-hearted  friend  —  must  avenge 
and  rid  me  of  my  enemy.     Will  you  be  that  man?" 

"  Well,  now,  cappin,  I  should  like  to  know  more  about  this 
business;  and  the  man  —  I  should  like  to  hear  his  name." 

"  Mellichampe  —  Ernest  Mellichampe,  the  son  of  Colonel 
Max  Mellichampe,  killed  at  Monk's  corner  in  January  last." 

"  Why,  I  don't  know  the  man,  cappin,  I  never  seed  him, 
and  shouldn't  be  able  to  make  him  ont.  even  if  I  stumbled 
aver  him  crossing  a  log." 

"That  is  no  difficulty.  I  will  give  you  marks  and  signs  by 
which  you  can  not  fail  to  know  him  under  any  circumstances. 
You  saw  his  face  to-night.  He  came  here  to  see  —  and  that 
is  another  reason  for  my  hatred  —  he  came  here  to  see,  not  our 
troop,  nor  our  disposition,  nor  with  any  reference  to  our  war 
fare,  but  simply  to  see  the  young  lady  of  the  house." 

"What,  the  gal  in  black  —  her  that  looks  so  grand  and  so 
sweet?"  inquired  Blonay,  with  some  earnestness. 

"  The  taller  —  the  dark-eyed  one  —  the  daughter  of  the  old 
man,  Mr.  Berkeley." 

"  And  you  reckon  there's  love  atween  them?"  curiously  in 
quired  the  half-breed. 

"Ay,  such  love  as  I  would  not  have  between  them,"  bitterly 
responded  the  other.  "  I  know  that  Mellichainpa  has  long 
loved  her,  and  I  fear  that  she  requites  him  in  kind  This  is 
another  reason  why  I  should  hate  him  fo?.  I  too  ---but  why 
should  I  tell  you  this?  It  is  enough  that  I  liatu,  p.nd  that  I 
would  destroy  him.  Here,  Blonay,  take  this  —  it  is  gold  — 
good  British  gold;  and  I  give  it  as  an  earnest  of  what  yon 
shall  have  if  you  will  bring  me  the  cars  of  my  en:;rny.  Take 
the  swamp  after  him  —  hunt  him  by  day  and  by  night:  and 
*vhcn  you  can  come  and  show  me,  to  my  satisfaction,  that  he 
troubles  me  no  more,  you  shall  have  the  sum  doubled  thri™ 
Say  that  you  will  serve  me." 

He  put  five  guineas  into  the  hand  of  the  unreluctant  linH' 
breed,  who  at  once  deposited  them  from  sight  in  a  pocket  ot 
liis  garment;  and  yet,  though  he  secured  {he  money,  Blon*.* 
paused  before  giving  his  answer. 

"  Why  do  you  hesitate:?"  demanded  the  tory 


SECRET    I'Ultl'OSKS.  117 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  in  his  drawling  fashion,  "  I  don't 
know,  cappin,  how  one  business  can  go  with  the  other.  I 
have,  you  see,  a  little  affair  of  my  own  to  settle  with  one  of  the 
"""bels  in  Marion's  men,  that's  rather  like  the  business  you  wants 
.lie  to  go  upon  for  you.  Now,  one  must  be  settled  'fore  the 
othet;  and  'tan't  in  natur,  when  a  man's  blood's  up,  that  he 
should  turn  aAvay  from  his  own  enemy  to  go  after  another 
man's.  I'm  on  trail  of  my  enemy  now,  and  I  should  be  sorry 
to  drop  it,  I  tell  you;  and,  'deed,  cappin,  I  can't,  no  how." 

"Barsfield  was  still  prepared  to  meet  the  difficulties  suggested 
by  his  proposed  instrument. 

"  You  need  not  give  up  one  pursuit  in  taking  up  the  other. 
It  is  fortunate  for  us  that  our  enemies  are  both  in  the  same 
drive.  They  are  both  men  of  Marion,  and,  in  tracking  one, 
the  probability  is  that  you  can  not  be  very  far  from  the  other, 
Indeed,  for  that  matter,  the  one  will  be  most  likely  to  help  you 
to  the  other,  as  the  squad  of  Marion  must  now  be  greatly  re 
duced,  and  he  can  not  consequently  venture  to  scatter  them 
much.  This  is  no  difficulty,  but  rather  an  advantage." 

Blonay  was  silenced,  if  not  convinced  on  this  point.  He 
did  not  reply,  but  seemed  for  a  few  moments  lost  in  deliber 
ation  ;  at  length,  breaking  the  silence  abruptly,  he  spoke  of 
another,  and  seemingly  a  foreign  feature  of  the  affair. 

"  And  you  say,  cappin,  that  there's  love  atween  him  and 
the  young  gal  of  the  house — Miss  Janet,  as  they  calls  her1?" 

41  Yes  !  but  what  is  that  to  you?"  replied  the  other,  sternly. 
"  It  matters  nothing  whether  they  love  or  hate,  so  far  as  our 
business  lies  together.  You  are  to  labor  to  make  that  love 
fruitless,  if  so  be  there  is  love,  but  without  troubling  yourself 
to  know  or  to  inquire  into  the  fact." 

"Why,  yes,  that's  true,"  responded  the  other;  "it  don't 
matter  this  way  or  that,  and " 

They  were  interrupted  at  this  moment  by  a  distinct  and 
repeated  whistle, — just  such  a  signal  sound  as  had  preceded 
the  appearance  of  Mellichampe  at  the  window  of  the  hall. 
The  tory  put  his  hand  upon  the  wrist  of  Blonay,  while  he 
bent  forward  his  ear  to  the  entrance  —  muttering  to  himself  v 
moment  after,  as  he  again  heard  the  signal  :  — 


us 


M!  I.I.ICMAMPE 


"Now,  by  Heaven  !  but  this-  is  audacious  beyond  example. 
The  rebel  is  back  again  ;  a  scare  lias  no  effect  upon  him,  and 
nothing  but  shot  will.  Stay!"  he  exclaimed;  "hear  you 
nothing?" 

"  A  footstep,  cappin  ;   1  think  a  foot  coming  down  the  steps. '; 

And,  even  as  lie  said,  they  both  distinctly  heard,  the  next 
moment,  the  tread  of  a  foot  cautiously  set  doAvn,  moving 
toward  the  back  entrance  of  the  house.  Barsfield  imme 
diately  sprang  to  the  window  of  the  apartment,  and  beheld,  in 
riie  dim  light  just  then  bringing  out  the  trees  of  the  ground 
and  garden  into  soft  and  shadowy  relief,  a  slender  figure 
stealing  away  toward  the  garden,  carefully  keeping  as  much 
as  practicable  in  the  shelter  of  the  huge  water-oaks  that  ob 
scured  the  alley.  A  mingled  feeling  of  exultation  and  anger 
spoke  in  his  tone,  as  he  exclaimed  :  — 

"  I  have  him  now  —  the  doe  shall  bring  him  to  the  hunter 
—  he  shall  not  escape  me  now  !  Hark  you,  Blonay,  wait  me 
here  !  I  will  get  my  sabre,  and  be  with  you  instantly.  It  will 
be  hard  if  we  can  not  manage  him  between  us.  But  there  must 
be  no  stir  —  no  noise  ;  what  we  do  must  be  done  by  stratagem 
and  our  own  force.  Get  yourself  ready,  therefore  ;  your  knife 
will  answer,  for  your  rifle  will  be  of  little  use  in  the  thick 
.shrubbery  of  that  garden.  We  must  sneak,  sir ;  no  dove- 
hunting  without  sneaking." 

With  these  words,  Barsfield  left  the  apartment  of  the  half- 
breed  and  proceeded  to  his  own.  The  feelings  of  the  former, 
however,  scarcely  responded  to  the  sanguinary  words  of  the 
latter.  When  alone,  his  soliloquy,  brief  and  harsh,  was  yet 
new,  seemingly,  to  his  character.  Hated  and  harried  as  he 
had  been  by  all  before,  lie  had  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  been 
touched  with  the  influence  of  a  gentler  power  ;  and,  mattering 
to  himself  during  the  absence  of  the  tory,  he  disclosed  a  better 
feeling  than  any  that  we  have  been  accustomed  to  behold  in 
him. 

"If  the  gal  loves  him,  and  he  loves  her,  I  won't  spoil  the 
sport  atween  'em.  She's  a  good  gal,  and  had  me  to  come  to 
supper  at  the  same  table,  when  the  cappin  spoke  agin  it.  She 
didn't  laugh  at  me,  nor  stare  at  my  eyes,  as  if  I  was  a  wiH 


varmint ;  and  she  spoke  to  me  jist  as  she  spoke  to  other  people 
Adrat  it !  he  may  cut  his  enemy's  throat  for  himself,  I  slia'n't; 
but  then  1  needn't  tell  him  so,  neither;"  and,  as  he  spoke,  he 
twirled  the  little  purse  of  guineas  in  his  pocket  with  a  feeling 
of  immense  satisfaction.  In  a  moment  after  Barsfield  return 
ed,  and  led  the  way  cautiously  by  a  circuitous  track  towaid 
the  garden.  » 

Let  us  now  retrace  oricfly  the  stfij'S  *».'  liave  taken,  and  ob- 
;«  i  \  e  the  progress  of  s- >me  other  of  the  oersous  in  our  narrative. 


12C  MELLICHAMP** 


CHAPTER  XIV 

FHUlhJiSCREW    IN    PRACTICE. 

WE  have  seen,  pending  the  pursuit,  that  Mellichampe  had 
u.i»«>lly  kept  his  way  through  the  garden  until  he  reached  the 
•?orest  that  lay  immediately  behind  it.  Here  he  paused  —  Ito 
felt  secure  from  any  night  search  by  such  a  force  as  that  undei 
Barstielct.  A  huge  gum,  that  forked  within  a  few  feet  of  its 
base,  diverging  then  into  distinct  columns,  afforded  him  a  tol 
erable  forest  seat,  into  which,  with  a  readiness  that  seeir.ed  to 
denote  an  old  familiarity  with  its  uses,  the  fugitive  leaped  with 
little  diffic:::7,  The  undergrowth  about  him  was  luxuriant, 
and  almost  completely  shut  in  the  place  of  his  concealment 
from  any  glance,  however  far-darting,  of  that  bright  moon 
which  was  now  rising  silently  above  the  trees. 

But  a  sharper  eye  than  hers  had  been  upon  the  youth  from 
the  first  moment  of  his  flight  from  the  garden.  The  trusty 
Thumbscrew  was  behind  him,  and  a  watcher,  like  himself. 
He  had  hurried  from  the  conference  with  Humphries;  and, 
heedful  of  his  friend,  for  whose  safety  he  felt  all  a  parent's 
anxiety,  he  had  pressed  forward  to  the  plantation  of  Mr.  Berke 
ley,  and  to  those  portions  of  it  in  particular  which,  as  they  had 
been  frequently  traversed  by  both  of  them  before,  he  well 
knew  would  be  the  resort  of  Mellichampe  now.  Still,  though 
resolute  to  serve  the  youth,  and  having  no  more  selfish  object, 
lie  did  not  dare  to  offend  him  by  exposing  his  person  to  his 
sight.  He  arrived  at  a  convenient  place  of  watch  just  as  the 
pursuit  of  Barsfield  was  at  its  hottest.  He  saw  the  flight  of 
the  fugitive  from  the  garden,  and,  himself  concealed,  beheld 
him  take  his  old  position  in  the  crotch  of  the  gum.  His  first 


THUMBSCREW    IN    PRACTICE,  121 

impulse  was  to  advance  and  show  himself ;  but,  knowing  the 
lature  of  his  companion  well,  he  felt  assured  he  should  only 
give  offence,  and  do  no  service.  His  cooler  decision  was  to  lie 
snugly  where  he  was,  arid  await  the  progress  of  events. 

At  length  the  torches  disappeared  from. the  garden,  and  it 
was  not  long  after  when  the  lights  seemed  extinguished  in  (ho 
house  —  all  but  one.  A  candle,  a  pale  and  trembling  light, 
vas  still  to  be  seen  in  one  window  of  the  dwelling,  and  to  this 
the  eyes  of  Mellichampe  were  turned  with  as  fond  a  glance  as 
ever  Chaldean  shepherd  sent  in  worship  to  the  star  with  which 
he  held  his  fate  to  be  connected.  The  light  came  from  the 
chamber  of  Janet  Berkeley.  It  was  the  light  of  love  to  Melli 
champe,  and  it  brought  a  sweet  promise  and  a  pleasant  hope 
to  his  warm  and  active  fancy. 

Not  long  could  he  remain  in  his  quiet  perch  after  beholding 
it.  He  leaped  down,  glided  around  the  garden-paling,  and 
took  his  way  to  the  park  in  front,  keeping  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  fence  which  divided  the  ground  immediately  about  the 
dwelling  from  the  forest  and  the  fields.  The  fence,  as  is  com 
mon  to  most  fences  of  like  description  in  the  luxuriant  regions 
of  the  rrntli,  was  thickly  girdled  with  brush,  serving  admirably 
the  purpose  of  concealment.  Pursuing  it  with  this  object,  in 
all  its  windings,  he  at  length  approached  the  park  where  the 
British  troops  were  encamped.  Well  and  closely  did  he  scan 
their  position;  and,  with  the  eye  of  a  partisan,  he  saw  with 
how  much  ease  a  force  of  but  half  the  number,  properly  guided, 
might  effect  their  discomfiture.  He  did  not  linger,  however, 
in  idle  regrets  of  his  inability  ;  but,  moving  around  the  chain 
of  sentrieb,  he  ascertained  that  their  position  had  undergone 
no  alteration,  and  felt  assured  that  he  could  now  penetrate  the 
garden  safely.  This  done,  he  made  his  way  back  to  the  place 
of  his  concealment. 

In  the  examination  which  he  had  just  taken,  he  had  been 
closely  watched  and  followed  by  the  faithful  Thumbscrew. 
The  movements  of  the  youth  regulated  duly  those  of  his  at 
tendant.  When  the  former  halted,  the  latter  fell  back  behind 
the  brush,  advancing  when  he  advanced,  and  checking  his  own 
progress  whenever  the  dusky  shadow  of iMellichampe  appeared 


MKJ.LICHAMrK. 


to  linger  even  for  an  instant  in  tlio  moonlight.  ITe  escaped 
detection.  He  played  the  scout  with  a  dexterity  and  ease  that 
seemed  an  instinct,  and  hovered  thus  around  the  footsteps  of 
his  daring  friend  throughout  his  whole  progress,  to  and  fro,  in 
the  adventures  of  that  night. 

From  the  outside  to  the  inside  of  the  garden  was  but  a  step, 
and  in  a  trice  Mellichampe  went  over  the  fence.  Watching 
heedfully  until  the  youth  was  out  of 'sight,  and  hidden  within 
its  intricacies,  Thumbscrew  followed  his  example,  and  was 
soon  wending  after  him,  close  along  its  shady  alleys.  A  dense 
and  double  line  of  box,  which,  from  having  been  long  un- 
trimmed,  had  grown  up  into  so  many  trees,  afforded  an  admi 
rable  cover;  and,  pausing  at  every  turning,  he  looked  forth 
only  sufficiently  often  to  keep  the  course  of  the  lover  for  ever 
in  his  sight- 
In  the  meantime,  Mellichampe  made  his  way  to  the  garden 
entrance.  Here  he  stopped  with  an  unwonted  degree  of  pru 
dence,  for  which  Thumbscrew  gave  him  due  credit ;  ho  forbore 
to  press  forward,  as  the  latter  feared  he  might  do  — seeking  to 
cross  the  court,  which,  though  interspersed  with  trees,  was  yet 
not  sufficiently  well  covered  to  afford  the  necessary  conceal 
ment.  Keeping  within  the  garden,  therefore,  he  gave  the 
signal,  the  first  sounds  of  which  chilled  and  warmed  with  con 
tradictory  emotions  the  bosom  of  the  sweet  maiden  to  whose 
ears  it  was  addressed.  The  breath  almost  left  her  as  she 
heard  it,  and  she  gasped  with  her  apprehensions. 

"Too  — too  rash,  Ernest!"  she  exclaimed  in  a  low  tone,  as 
;t  reached  her  ears,  and  her  hands  were  involuntarily  clasped 
together.  "Too  rash  —  too  daring  —  too  heedless,  for  me  as 
tor  thyself.  Ah!  dearly  indeed  am  .1  taught  how  much  you 
love  me,  when  you  make  these  reckless  visits,  when  you  wan 
tonly  brave  these  dangers  !  But  T  must  go  !"  she  exclaimed, 
hurriedly,  as  she  heard  the  signal  impatiently  repeated  ;  "I 
nnis',.  go  —  I  must  meet  him,  or  he  will  seek  me  here.  He  will 
rush  into  yet  greater  dangers ;  he  will  not  heed  these  soldiers ; 
and  his  old  hatred  to  Barsfield,  should  he  have  distinguished 
him  to-night,  will  prompt  him,  I  fear  me  much,  to  seek  him 
out  even  where  his  enemies  are  thickest." 


TllUMHSCKKW     IN     PRACTICE. 


Thus  soliloquizing,  she  approached  the  couch  where  Rose 
Duncan  was  sleeping. 

"Rose Rose!"     She  called  to  her  without  receiving  any 

answer.  Assured  tliatjshe  slept,  Janet  did  not  seek  to  disturb 
her;  but,  after  a  hurried" prayer,  which  she  uttered  while  kneel 
ing  by  the  bedside,  she  rose  witli  new  courage,  and,  without 
further  hesitation,  unclosed  the  door,  passed  into  the  corridor, 
and  descended  to  meet  her  daring  lover.  Little  did  she  dream 
that  the  eyes  of  hate  and  jealousy  were  upon  her;  that  a  ma 
lignant  foe  was  no  less  watchful  than  a  fervent  lover;  that 
one  stood  in  waiting,  seeking  her  love,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
no  less  earnestly  desirous  of  the  heart's  blood  of  her  lover ! 

She  emerged  into  the  court,  which  she  hurried  over  incau 
tiously,  and  was  received  by  Mellichampe  at  the  entrance  of 
the  garden.  He  took  her  to  his  arms  —  he  led  her  away  to 
the  shelter  of  the  great  magnolias  that  towered  in  a  frowning 
group  from  its  centre  ;  and  the  joy  of  their  meeting,  in  that 
season  and  country  of  peril,  almost  took  away  the  sting  and 
the  sorrow  which  had  followed  their  separation,  and  now  ne 
cessarily  came  with  their  present  clangers.  The  happiness  of 
Mellichampe  was  a  tumult  that  could  only  speak  in  broken 
exclamations  of  delight ;  that  of  Janet  was  a  subdued  pleasure 
—  a  sort  of  bright,  spiritual,  moonlight  gleam,  that  came  steal 
ing  through  clouds,  mingled  with  falling  drops,  that  were  only 
not  oppressive  as  they  seemed  to  fall  from  heaven. 

"  Dear,  dearest  Janet  —  my  own  Janet  —  my  only!  —  I  have 
you  at  last;  your  hand  is  in  mine  — your  eyes  look  into  my 
own.  I  can  not  doubt  that  you  are  with  me  now.  I  believe 
it — I  know  it,  by  this  new-born  joy  which  is  beating  in  my 
heart.  Ah,  dearest,  but  for  thattory  reptile,  this  rapture  would 
have  been  mine  before.  But  you  are  here  at  last,  and,  while 
you  are  with  me,  I  will  not  think  of  him.  I  will  think  of 
nothing  to  vex;  I  will  know  but  one  thought,  but  one 
feeling— the  long-cherished,  dearest  of  all,  Janet  —  the  feel 
ing  of  adoration,  of  devoted  love,  which  my  bosom  bears  for 
you." 

The  youth,  as  he  spoke,  had  clasped  her  hands  both  in  his, 
and  his  eyes  looked  for  hers,  which  were  cast  down  upon  the 


MELLICHAMPE. 


grass  below  them.  When  she  looked  up,  and  they  vict  hii 
glance,  he  saw  that  they  were  glistening  with  tears. 

"  You  weep  — you  weep,  Janet.  I  vex  you  with  my  love  — 
:a  are  unhappy.  Spea;  -say  to  me,  clearest,  wnat  new 
affliction  —  what  new  strife  and  sorrow?  What  do  these 
tears  mean  ?  Say  out !  I  am  used  to  hear  of  evil ;  it  will  not 
disturb  me  now.  Is  there  any  new  stroke  in  store  for  me  ? 
Do  not  fear  to  name  it ;  anything,  only,  only,  Janet,  if  I  am 
to  suffer,  let  it  not  be  your  hand  which  is  to  deal  it." 

"  There  is  none ;  none  that  I  have  to  deal ;  none  that  I  know 
of » 

"  Then  there  is  none  ;  none  that  should  trouble  me ;  none 
that  should  make  you  weep.  No  tears,  Janet,  I  pray  you. 
We  meet  so  seldom,  that  there  should  be  no  cloud  over  our 
meeting.  See,  love,  how  clear,  how  beautiful  is  this  night ! 
There  were  several  clouds  hanging  about  the  moon  at  her 
rising,  but  they  are  all  gone,  and  now  hang  like  so  much 
silver  canopy  above  her  head  :  she  is  almost  full  and  round  ; 
and  there  is  something  of  promise  in  her  smile  for  us  —  so, 
dearest,  it  appears  to  me.  Smile  with  me,  smile  with  her, 
my  beloved,  and  forget  your  griefs,  and  dismiss  your  tears." 

"  Alas,  Ernest !  how  can  I  smile,  when  all  things  alarm  me 
for  you  ?  The  pursuit  to-night  — your  vindictive  enemy, 
Barsfield,  —  oh,  Ernest,  why  will  you  be  so  headstrong —so 
rash  ?" 

"  There  is  no  danger.  I  fear  him  not,  Janet ;  but  he  shall 
learn  to  fear  me  :  he  does  fear  me,  and  hence  it  is  that  he 
hates  and  pursues  me.  But  the  fugitive  will  turn  upon  his 
pursuer  yet.  The  time  is  coming,  and,  by  the  God  of  heav 
en— —  " 

She  put  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  looked  appealingly  into 
his  eyes,  but  spoke  not. 

"  Well,  well,  say  nothing:  forgive  me,  dearest ;  I  will  speak 
no  more  of  him  ;  I  will  not  vex  you  with  his  name — you  are 
now  sufficiently  vexed  with  his  presence.  But  the  time  will 
come,  Janet,  and,  by  Heaven  —  if  I  mistake  not  greatly 
Heaven's  justice  —  it  can  not  be  far  off,  when  he  .shall  render  " 
me  a  fearful  account  of  all  his  doings  tr  mo  and  mine,  lie 


T1IUM1JSCRKW    IN    PRACTICE. 


125 


lias   now  the  power —  the  men,  the   arms,  but  there  will  b* 
some  lucky  hour  which  shall  find  him  unprovided,  when- 

She  again  appealed   to  the  youth,  whose  impetuosity  wai 
again  becoming  conspicuous. 
"  You  promised  me,  Ernest." 

"  Forgive  me,  dearest  —  I  did  promise  you,  and  I  will  forbear 
to  speak  of  the  reptile  ;  but  my  blood  boils  when  I  but  hear 
his  name,  and  I  forget  myself  for  the  moment." 
"  Ah,  Ernest,  you  are  but  too  prone  to  forgetting." 
"Perhaps  so,  Janet:  your  charge  is  true ;  but  you  I  never 
forget ;  my  love  for  you  goes  along  with  every  thought,  and 
forms  a  part  of  the  predominant  mood,  whatever  that  may  be. 
Thus,  even  when  I  think  of  this  man,  whose  name  inflames 
my  blood  until  I  pant  for  the  shedding  of  his,  one  of  the  influ 
ences  which  stimulates  my  anger  is  the  thought  of  you.  He 
comes  between  us ;  he  fills  your  father's  mind  with  hostility  to 
me,  and  he  seeks  you,  Janet,  he  seeks  you  for  his  own." 

"  Nay,  Ernest,  why  should  you  think  so  1  He  has  made  no 
avowal ;  and  I  am  sure  the  regard  of  my  father  for  you  has 
undergone  no  change." 

"  It  is  so,  nevertheless  ;  and  your  father  is  too  weak  and  too 
timid,  whatever  may  be  his  affections,  to  venture  to  maintain 
opinions  in  hostility  to  those  who  command  him  when  they 
please.  He  has  denounced  me  to  your  father,  that  I  know  ; 
he  seeks  you,  I  believe  ;  and  much  I  fear  me,  Janet,  your 
father  will  yield  to  his  suggestions  in  all  cases,  and  both  of  us 
will  become  the  victims." 

As  the  youth  thus  addressed  her,,  the  tears  departed  from 
her  eyes,  and  the  expression  which  followed  upon  her  face  was 
calm  and  pleasantly  composed.  There  was  no  rigidity  in  its 
muscles  ;  each  feature  seemed  to  maintain  its  natural  place  ; 
and  her  words  were  slow,  and  uttered  in  the  gentlest  tones. 

"Have  no  fear  of  this,  Ernest,  I  pray  you,  Should  this 
man,  should  my  father,  should  all,  so  far  mistake  me,  as  to 
entertain  a  thought  that  I  could  yield  to  a  union  with  Barsfield, 
do  not  you  mistake  me.  I  will  not  vow  to  you,  Ernest ;  I  have 
no  protestations  to  make,  I  know  not  how  to  make  them  ;  but 
you  will  understand,  and  you  will  believe  me  in  the  assurance 


126 


MELLICHAMPE. 


which  1  now  give  you,  that  1  can  not  hold  my  senses,  and  con» 
sent  to  any  connection  with  the  person  you  speak  of." 

"Bless  you,  dear  Janet,  but  I  needed  no  such  assurance.  I 
only  feared  that  you  might  be  driven  by  circumstances,  by 
trick,  by  contrivances,  to  make  a  sacrifice  of  yourself  for  the 
good  of  another." 

"Alas  !  Ernest,  I   now  know  what  yon  would   say.       You 
would  tell  me  that  my  father,  at  the  me.rcy  of  this  man,  as  he 
is,  may  require  me  as  the^  offering  by  which  he  is  to  be  saved. 
God  help  me  !   it  is  a  strait   I  have  not  thought  upon.     I  will 
not,  I  dare  not,  think  upon  it !     Let  us  speak  no  more  of  this.* 
Gloomily  and  sternly  the  youth  replied:  — 
"But  you  will  think  upon  it,  Janet;  it  may  be  required  of 
you  ere  long.     Think  upon  it,  and  provide  your  strength." 

"  God  forbid,  Ernest ;   God  forbid  !     Let  me  die  first  !     Let 
me  perish  before  it  becomes  a  question  with  me,  whether  to 
sacrifice  peace,  hope,  the  proper   delicacy  of  my  sex,  and  all 
that  I  live  for,  and  all  that  1  would  love,  to  the  safety  of  an 
only  parent.     Oh,  Low  false  I  should  be  to  promise  love  to  a 
being  whom  I  could   only  hate  or  despise  !     What  a  daughter 
could  1  be,  to  resist  the  prayers  of  a  father  requiring  me  to  do 
so  !     Alas,  Ernest,  you    bring  me  every  form  of  trial.     You 
make  me  most  unhappy.     You  come  rashly  into  the  clutches 
of  your   deadly    fop.,   and    I  tremble  hourly,   however  I  may 
rejoice  when  i  hear  that  you  are  coming,     I  dread  to  see  you 
perish  before  my  eyes,  under  the  weapons  of  these  men  :  and, 
when  you  come,  what  is  it  that  I  am  compelled  to  hear  \  what 
fear-  are  before  me  !   what  horrors  i     Ah,  if  love  be  a  treasure, 
t  hp  a  joy  to  love  and  to  be  loved,  it  is  so  much  the  harder 
to  think    hourly  of  its  loss,  and  of  its  so  unguarded  condition. 
.Better  not  to  feel,  better  to  be  hollow-hearted  and  insensible, 
than  thus  continually  to  dread,  and  as  continually  to  desire  — 
to  foar  with   every  hope,  and    to   weep  even  where  you  would 
smile  the  most." 

She  buried  her  face  in  his  bosom  as  she  spoke,  and  her  sobs 
were  audible.  His  arm  gently  supported  while  enclasping  her, 
and  her  nfflictioiin  greatly  tended  to  subdue  the  impetuous 
eharaclHr  of  his  [>rovious  mood.  He  replied  to  her  fondly,  in 


niUMBSCRKW    IN    PRACTICE.  127 

those  low  tones  which  only  the  rich  sensibility  can  understand, 
and  the  generous,  warm  spirit,  employ  understandingly. 

"And  yet,  dearest,  those  very  sorrows  have  a  sweetness. 
Privation,  pain,  denial,  even  the  lost  love,  Janet,  are  nothing 
to  the  choice  spirit  which  has  faith  along  with  its  sympathyl 
What  consoles  me?  What  has  consoled  me  in  the  perils  andj 
the  pains,  the  losses  and  the  sorrows,  which  I  have  undergone, 
in  this  warfare,  and  within  the  last  two  years  1  My  confidence 
in  you;  my  perfect  faith  that,  however  desolate,  poor,  denied, 
and  desperate,  however  parted  by  enemies  or  distance,  I  was  still 
secure  of  your  love ;  I  still  knew  that  nothing,  no,  not  even  death, 
my  Janet,  could  deprive  me  of  that.  If  you  have  that  con 
fidence  in  me,  my  beloved,  these  sorrows,  these  trials,  are  only 
so  many  strengthened.  You  will  then  find  that  the  sorrows 
of  love,  borne  well  and  without  despondence,  are  the  sweetest 
triumphs  of  the  true  affection.  They  are  the  honors  which 
time  can  never  tarnish  ;  they  are  the  spoils  which  last  us  for 
ever  after.  Janet,  if,  like  you,  I  doubted,  if  I  did  not  feel 
assured  of  your  unperishing  truth,  I  should  rush  this  night, 
madly,  and  with  but  one  hope  of  death,  upon  the  swords  of 
these  tory-troopers.  I  should  freely  perish  under  your  eyes, 
with  but  one  prayer,  that  you  might  be  able  to  behold  me  to 
the  last." 

"Speak  not  thus!"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  shudder,  looking 
around  her  as  she  spoke  ;  "  and  do  not  think,  Ernest,  from  what 
I  have  said,  that  1  have  not  the  same  perfect  faith  in  you  that 
you  feel  in  me  ;  but  I  despair  of  all  our  hope.  I  am  truly  a 
timid  maiden,  and  I  am  always  fancying  a  thousand  woes  and 
sorrows.  I  can  not  dare  to  believe  otherwise  than  that  our 
loves  are  unblessed  ;  I  can  not  hope  that  we  shall  realize  them  : 
and  oh,  Ernest,  your  rashness,  more  than  all  things  beside, 
tends  to  confirm  in  me  these  apprehensions.  Why  will  you 
come  to  me  when  your  enemies  are  abroad  1  Promise  me. 
dear  Ernest,  to  fiy  from  this  neighborhood  until  the  danger  has 
gone  over.  There  is  no  dishonor  —  none." 

"Ay,  but  there  is,  Janet  ;  but  of  this  we  need  say  nothing. 
I  could  tell  you  much  of  friends,  and  good  service  to  be  done, 
hut  may  not.  Let  us  speak  of  more  pleasant  matters  :  of  oui 


128  MEI.MCJIAMPK. 

hopes,  not  of  our  fears  ;  of  our  joys,  not  of  our  sorrows  ;  of  the 
future,  too,  in  exclusion  of  the  present." 

And  thus,  loving  and  well  beloved,  the  two  discoursed  to 
gether  ;  she  sadly  and  despondingly,  but  with  a  true  devoted- 
ness  of  heart  throughout ;  and  he,  warm  in  all  things,  impetu 
ously  urging  his  love,  his  hope,  his  hatred  to  his  enemies,  his 
promises  of  vengeance,  and  his  fixed  determination  to  pursue 
the  war  in  the  neighborhood,  in  spite  even  of  her  solicitations 
that  he  should  fly  to  a  region  of  greater  security. 

Thumbscrew,  meanwhile,  had  been  anything  but  remiss  in 
his  guard.  He  had  cautiously  pursued  his  youthful  associate, 
keeping  close  upon  his  heels,  yet  narrowly  watching  to  avoid 
discovery.  ^T'tvugh  a  bold  and  daring  man,  he  yet  esteemed  the 
feelings  and  desires  of  Mellichampe  with  a  sentiment  of  respect 
little  short  of  awe  ;  the  natural  sentiment  of  one  brought  up  as 
lie  had  been,  to  regard  the  family  of  his  wealthy  neighbor  as 
superior  beings  in  many  respects.  Apart  from  this,  the  quick, 
impetuous  spirit  of  the  youth  exacted  its  own  observance  ;  and, 
as  his  commands  had  been  positive  to  his  comrade  not  to  at 
tend  him,  and  urged  in  a  manner  sufficiently  emphatic  to  en 
force  respect,  the  more  humble  companion  felt  the  necessity 
of  seeming  submissive  at  least.  We  have  seen  that  his  regard 
trampled  over  his  obedience,  and  it  was  well  perhaps  that  it 
did  so.  It  was  not  long  that  Thumbscrew  had  maintained  his 
watch,  before  his  quick  ear  detected  the  approach  of  footsteps. 
He  ventured  to  peep  out  from  his  bush,  and  he  was  able  to  see 
the  distinct  outline  of  the  intruder's  person.  He  saw  him  ap 
proach  the  long  alley  in  which  he  himself  was  sheltered,  and 
n-tthin  a  few  paces  of  the  lovers  ;  and  he  immediately  changed 
!ii^  ov/n  position.  Barsfield —  for  it  was  he  —  came  on,  passed 
lie  spot  which  sheltered  the  scout,  and,  stealing  heed  fully 
.'iroiind  a  clump  of  orange,  made  his  way  to  the  rear  of  the 
•hick  bower  in  which  Janet  and  Mellichampe  were  seated. 
The  scout  tracked  him  with  no  less  caution  and  much  more 
adroitness.  He  placed  himself  in  cover,  and  coolly  awaited 
the  progress  of  events.  The  impatient  spirit  of  Barsfield  did 
not  suffer  him  to  wait  long.  The  tory,  it  is  probable,  heard 
something  of  the  dialogue  betweeu  the  two,  and  his  movement 


THUMLJSCRKW    IN    PRACTICE.  129 

Deemed  prompted  at  the  particular  moment  when  it  took  place 
by  some  remark  of  Mellichampe,  which,  from  the  exclamation 
of  Barsfield  as  he  rushed  upon  the  youth,  had  touched  the  eaves 
dropper  nearly.  Leaping  forward  from  behind  one  of  the  mag 
nolias  where  he  had  been  screened,  with  drawn  sword,  and  a 
movement  sufficiently  hurried  to  pass  the  ground  which  sepa 
rated  them  in  the  course  of  a  few  seconds,  he  cried  to  his  rival 
in  a  bitter  but  suppressed  tone  of  voice  — 

"  You  shall  pay  dearly  for  that  lie,  Mellichampe  !" 

In  the  next  moment,  a  buffet  from  an  unseen  hand,  that 
might  have  felled  an  ox,  saluted  his  ear,  and  he  stumbled  mi-- 
harmingly  forward  at  the  feet  of  the  man  whom  he  had  sought 
to  slay. 

"Save  me  —  oh,  Ernest,  save  me!  Fly,  fly! — away,  Er 
nest —  it  is  Barsfield!" 

Screaming  thus,  at  the  first  alarm,  the  maiden  clung  to  the 
youth,  and  trembled  with  affright.  lie,  on  the  instant,  had 
drawn  his  dirk,  and  putting  her  aside  almost  sternly,  threw 
himself  upon  the  half-stunned  person  of  the  tory  :  but  his  hand 
was  seized  by  the  watchful  attendant.  "Let  me  fix  him,  Air- 
nest,  boy ;  I  knows  how  to  manage  the  varmint." 

"  You  here,  Witherspoon  1"  demanded  the  youth. 

"As  you  see  him,  Airnest  —  but  take  care  of  the  gal,  and 
send  her  safe  home  and  quietly  to  bed.  Ax  pardon,  Miss 
Janet,  for  scaring  you,  but  'twas  the  only  way  to  manage  the 
critter ;  but  you  had  better  run  now,  while  I  put  what  I  calls 
my  screwbolt  upon  the  tory's  jaw.  Airnest,  boy,  let  me  have 
your  handkerchief,  since  I  may  want  another.  There  !" 

With  his  knee  upon  the  bosom  of  the  tory,  he  busied  himself 
meanwhile  in  bandaging  his  mouth.  The  intruder  did  not 
submit  quietly,  but  began  to  show  some  few  signs  of  dissatis 
faction.  His  movement  provoked  an  additional  pressure  of  the 
knee  of  his  assailant  upon  his  breast,  while  the  huge  handker 
chief  which  was  employed  upon  his  mouth,  as  he  endeavored 
to  cry  out,  ^vas  thrust  incontinently  into  it.  He  was  a  child  in 
the  hands  of  his  captor. 

"Easy,  now.  Mr.  Barsfield  —  be  quiet  and  onconsarned,  and 
no  harm  shall  come  to  you;  but,  if  you're  at  all  opstropolous, 


130  MELL1CI1AMPE. 

I  shall  be  bound  to  take  up  a  stitch  or  two  in  your  jaw  here, 
that'll  be  mighty  disagreeable  to  both  of  us.  Airnest,  now, 
boy,  don't  stop  for  last  words,  bullet's  be  off,  or  we'll  have  all 
the  cubs  looking  after  the  great  bear.  I'll  hold  the  lad  quiet 
till  you  see  the  gal  safe  to  the  gate,  but  don't  go  farther." 

He  kept  his  word  and  his  good-nature,  in  spite  of  all  the 
struggles  of  his  prisoner.  Once,  and  once  only,  he  seemed  to 
become  angry,  as  the  tory  gave  him  something  more  than  the 
customary  annoyance  ;  but  a  judicious  obtrusion  of  a  monstroun 
knife,  which  was  made  to  flash  in  the  moonlight  before  the 
eyes  of  the  captive,  was  thought  sufficient  by  the  scout  in  the 
\v;iy  of  exhortation. 

"  It's  a  nasty  fine  piece  of  steel,  now,  captain,  and  if  you 
g'ives  me  much  more  trouble  I  shall  let  you  have  a  small  taste 
of  its  qualities ;  so  you  had  better  lay  still  till  I  lets  you  off, 
which  won't  be  long,  for  you're  of  no  more  use  to  me  here  than 
a  dead  'possum  in  a  hollow  thirty  miles  off.  If  I  had  you  in 
the  swamp,  now,  I  could  drive  a  little  trade  in  your  skin.  I 
could  swap  you  for  some  better  man  than  yourself;  but  I'm 
your  friend  here,  for,  to  say  the  gospel  truth  to  you,  captain, 
if  I  didn't  stand  between  you  and  Airnest  Mellichampe,  you 
wouldn't  see  what  hurt  you  :  he'd  be  through  you  like  a  ground- 
mole,  though  in  much  shorter  time ;  and  there  wouldn't  be  an 
inch  of  your  heart  that  his  dirk  wouldn't  bite  into.  But  you're 
safe,  you  see,  as  you're  my  prisoner  —  the  captive,  as  they  used 
to  say  in  old  times,  of  my  bow  and  spear  —  though,  to  be  sure, 
it  was  only  my  fist  that  did  your  business." 

It  was  thus  that,  like  a  good  companion  as  he  was,  Thumb 
screw  regaled  the  ears  -of  his  prisoner  with  a  commentary  upon 
the  particulars  of  his  situation.  In  the  meantime,  Mellichampe 
conducted,  or  rather  supported,  the  maiden  to  the  garden  en 
trance.  When  there  she  recovered  her  strength,  as  she  per 
ceived  that  he  designed  attending  her  to  the  dwelling.  This 
she  resisted. 

"No,  Ernest,  no!  —  risk  no  more!  1  will  not*see — I  will 
not  suffer  it.  Let  us  part  now  —  in  danger  still,  as  we  liavo 
ever  been.  In  sorrow  let  us  separate-  -alao  '  I  fear,  in  sorrow 
to  meet  again,  if  again  we  ever  meet." 


THUMBSCJREW    IN    PRACTICE.  131 

"  Speak  not  thus,"  he  replied,  hoarsely.  "  Why  these  sad 
misgivings'?  is  our  love  so  much  a  sorrow,  my  Janet?" 

"  Sorrow  or  pleasure,  JSrnest,  it  is  still  our  love  —  a  love  that 
1  shall  die  in,  and  fear  not  to  die  for.  But  do  not  linger,  I 
pray  you  :  remember  that  Witherspoon  is  waiting  for  your  re 
turn  before  he  can  release  that  man." 

"  Release  him  !"  was  the  stern  exclamation,  and  a  fierce  but 
.suppressed  laugh  of  bitterness  fell  from  the  lips  of  Mellichampe 
v.'ith  the  words. 

"Ay,  release  him,  Ernest.  What  mean  you  by  those  words 
—  that  laugh"?  Surely,  surely,  Ernest,  you  do  not  mean  him 
harm?" 

"Would  he  not  harm  us?  has  he  not  harmed  me  already? 
Jr.iiot,  you  must  remember  —  I  had  a  father  once." 

"  1  do  —  I  do ;  but  oh,  Ernest,  dismiss  your  thoughts,  which 
I  see  are  fearful  now.  Promise  me,  Ernest,  that  you  will  do 
this  man  no  harm." 

Her  hand  earnestly  pressed  his  arm  as  she  entreated  him. 
He  was  silent. 

"Ernest,"  she  exclaimed,  solemnly  —  "Ernest,  remember! 
the  hand  of  Janet  Berkeley  can  never  be  won  by  crime." 

He  released  her  hand,  which  till  this  moment  he  had  held 
There  was  a  strife  going  on  within  his  bosom.  She  gazed  or? 
him  suspiciously,  and  with  terror. 

"  I  leave  you,  Ernest,"  she  whispered,  "  I  leave  you ;  but  do 
that  man  no  harm." 

There  was  a  solemnity  in  her  tones  that  rebuked  his  thoughts. 
She  was  leaving  him,  but  turned  back  with  a  gentler  tone  — 

"  I  doubt  you  not,  dear  Ernest ;  I  doubt  you  not  now.  For 
give  me  that  I  did  so  for  an  instant;  and  oh,  Ernest,  come  not 
again  into  this  neighborhood  till  these  men  are  gone.  Promise 
me  —  promise  me,  dear  Ernest." 

What  would  not  love  promise  at  such  a  moment?  Melli 
champe  promised  —  he  knew  not  what.  His  thoughts  were 
elsewhere;  and  he  felt  not,  that,  in  kissing  her  cheek  as  they 
parted,  his  lips  had  borne  away  her  tears. 


132  MELLIOHAMPK. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    FRIENDLY    HITCH. 

DURING  the  momentary  absence  of  Mellichampe,  his  trusty 
associate  had  been  equally  busy  with  himself.  He  had  com 
pletely  gagged  his  prisoner  with  a  handkerchief  of  no  common 
dimensions,  and  not  remarkable  for  the  delicacy  of  its  texture. 
He  had  finished  this  labor  with  a  facility  that  was  marvellous, 
and  seemed  to  speak  loudly  for  his  frequent  practice  in  such 
matters.  This  done,  he  took  his  seat  composedly  enough  upon 
the  body  of  the  tory,  and  in  this  manner  awaited  the  return  of 
Mellichampe. 

Barsfield,  meanwhile,  though  at  first  a  little  uneasy  and  op- 
strepcrous,  soon  found  it  necessary  to  muster  all  his  philosophy 
in  the  endurance  of  an  evil  that  seemed  unavoidable  for  the 
present.  The  huge,  keen  knife  of  the  woodman  glared  threat 
eningly  in  his  eyes,  and  he  saw  that  his  efforts  to  escape,  in 
more  than  one  instance  already,  had  provoked  an  expression 
of  anger  from  his  captor,  who  at  other  moments  seemed  good- 
natured  and  indulgent  enough.  The  tory  consoled  himself, 
however,  with  the  thought  that  Blonay  could  not  be  far  off ; 
and  that,  having  made  the  circuit  of  the  garden,  as  it.  had  been 
appointed  to  him  to  do,  he  would  soon  come  to  his  assistance 
and  release.  With  this  reflection,  though  burning  for  vengeance 
all  the  while,  he  was  content  to  keep  as  quiet  as  was  consistent 
with  a  position  so  very  uneasy  and  unusual. 

The  fierce  mood  of  Mellichampe  was  in  action  on  his  return: 
there  was  a  terrible  strife  going  on  within  his  heart.  A  san 
guinary  thirst  was  striving  there  for  mastery,  opposed  strongly, 
it  is  true,  but  not  efficiently,  by  a  just  sense  of  human  feeling 
not  less  than  of  propriety.  But  there  was  no  calm  delibora 


A   FRIENDLY    HITCH.  133 

tion,  and  his  passions  triumphed.  All  his  more  violent  and 
vexing  impulses  were  active  in  dictation.  His  eye  was  full 
of  desperate  intention  :  his  hand  grasped  his  bare  dagger,  and 
his  movement  was  hurried  toward  the  prisoner,  whose  eye 
turned  appealingly  to  that  of  Witherspoon.  The  latter  had 
his  own  apprehensions,  but  he  had  his  decision  also.  He  saw 
the  manner  of  Mellicharnpe's  approach ;  he  understood  directly 
the  dreadful  language  which  was  uttered  from  his  eye,  though 
sleeping  upon  his  lips ;  and  he  prepared  himself  accordingly 
to  encounter  and  resist  the  movement  which  the  glance  of  his 
comrade  evidently  meditated. 

He  was  scarcely  quick  enough  for  this.  A  sudden  and  fierce 
bound,  like  that  which  the  catamount  makes  from  his  tree 
upon  the  shoulders  of  his  approaching  victim,  carried  the  form 
of  Mellichampe  full  upon  the  breast  of  the  tory,  who  strove,  but 
vainly,  to  shrink  away  from  beneath.  The  impetuous  movement 
half  displaced  the  woodman.  In  another  moment  the  weapon 
must  have  been  in  the  throat  of  the  tory,  but  for  the  ready 
effort  and  athletic  arms  of  Witherspoon.  He  grasped  the 
youth  from  behind.  His  embrace  encircled  completely,  while 
securing  him  from  the  commission  of  the  deed. 

"  Release  me,  Witherspoon,"  cried  Mellichampe  to  his  com 
panion,  while  the  thick  foam  gathered  about  his  lips  and  half 
choked  his  utterance. 

.  "  I'll  be  G — d  denied  if  I  do,  Airnest,"  was  the  decisive 
reply.     The  youth  insisted — -the  woodman  was  inflexible. 

"  You  will  repent  it.  Witherspoon." 

"  Can't  be  helped,  Airnest,  but  I  can't  think  to  let  you  go  to 
do  murder.  'Taint  right,  Airnest ;  and  dang  my  buttons  if  any 
man  that  I  calls  my  friend  shall  do  wrong  when  I'm  standing 
by,  if  so  be  I  can  keep  his  hands  off." 

"Shall  this  wretch  always  cross  my  path,  John  Wither 
spoon  ? — shall  he  always  go  unpunished  ?  Does  he  not  even 
now  seek  my  life  —  his  hands  not  yet  clean  from  the  blood  of 
my  father?  Release  me,  Witherspoon  —  it  will  be  worse  if 
you  do  not."  . 

"  That's  my  ook-out,  Airnest,  I  know ;  it's  the  risk  I  runs 
always,  and  it's  no  new  thing.  But,  Airnest,  I  can't  let  yoa 


134 


AIELLICHAMPB. 


go,  onless  j  on  promise  not  to  use  your  knife.  The  fellow  de- 
sarves  the  knife,  I  reckon  ;  but,  you  sec  lie's  a  prisoner,  and 
can't  do  nothing  for  himself.  It  ain't  the  business  of  a  sod 
ger  and  a  decent  man  to  hurt  a  critter  that  can't  fend  off." 

"  A  reptile  — a  viper,  who  will  sting  your  heel  the  moment 
you  take  it  from  his  head  !" 

''  Maybe;  but  he's  my  prisoner,  Airnest." 

"Why,  what  can  you  do  with  him?  —  you  can't  carry  him 
with  you?" 

No,  Airnest;  but  that's  r.o  reason  that  I  should  kill  him." 
"What  will  you  do  with  him?"  inquired  the  youth. 
"Leave  him  here — jist  where  he  is,  on  the  flat  of  his  back, 
and  mighty  oncomfortable." 

"  Indeed  !  — to  pursue  us,  and  by  his  cries,  direct  his  hounds 
upon  our  heels?  Let  him  rise,  rather  — give  him  his  sword, 
and  let  him  fight  it  out  with  me  in  the  neighboring  wood." 

"Not  so  fast,  Airnest— that'll  be  a  scheme  that  would  only 
hobble  botli  of*  us,  and  I'm  not  going  to  risk  any  such  ej;  :- 
vance.  I  have  a  much  better  notion  than  that,  if  you'll  only 
hear  to  reason  ;  and  all  I  axes  of  you  is,  jist  to  keep  your  knife 
ready  at  the  Jiap's  throat,  but  not  to  use  it  onless* he  moves 
and  gits  obstiopolous.  Say  you'll  do  that  now,  while  I  takes  a 
turn  or  two  upon  my  shadow,  and  I'll  let  you  loose." 
The  youth  hesitated.  The  woodman  went  on  — 
"  You  mought  as  well,  Airnest,  I'm  not  guine  to  loose  you 
onless  you  says  you  won't  hurt  the  critter.  Say  so,  Airnest, 
and  I'll  fix  him  so  lie  can't  follow  us  or  make  any  fuss." 

Finding  that  his  companion  was  inflexible,  and  most  prob 
ably  somewhat  subdued  by  this  time,  and  conscious  of  the  crime 
he.  had  striven  to  commit,  Mellichainpe  consented,  though  still 
reluctantly,  and  the  moment  after  he  was  released.  The 
.voodman  rose  and  began  to  make  some  farther  preparations 
lor  the  'securing  of  his  prisoner.  Meanwhile,  with  his  knee 
firmly  fastened  upon  the  breast  of  the  tory,  and  his  dagger  up 
lifted  and  in  readiness,  the  eyes  of  the  youth  were  fastened 
\vith  all  the  demon  glare  of  hatred  and  revenge  upon  those 
«f  the  man  below  him.  The  feelings  of  Barsfield  under  such 
circumstances  were  anything  but  enviable.  Accustomed  to 


A     I'ltlENDLY    111T(JH.  135 

judge  of  meu  by  his  own  nature,  he  saw  no  reason  to  feel 
satisfied  that  Mellichampe  would  keep  the  promise  of  forbear 
ance  which  he  had  made  to  his  companion  ;  and  yet  he  dread 
ed  to  exhibit  emotion  or  anxiety,  for  fear  of  giving  him  suf- 
ficieiit  excuse  for  not  doing  so.  His  emotions  may  well  be 
inferred  from  the  natural  apprehensions  of  such  a  situation; 
and  his  base  soul  sunk  into  yet  deeper  shame,  as  he  lay  trem- 
I'ling  beneath  his  enemy,  dreading  the  death  which  was  above 
him,  and  which  lie  well  knew  he  so  richly  deserved. 

But  Thumbscrew  was  considerate,  and  did  not  long  keep 
the  tory  in  suspense.  In  the  few  moments  in  which  he  had 
withdrawn  himself  from  the  person  of  the  prisoner,  he  had 
made  sundry  arrangements  for  better  securing  him ;  and,  with 
a  cord  of  moderate  length,  which  he  had  drawn  from  a  capa 
cious  pocket,  he  constructed  a  running  noose,  or  slip-knot,  with 
which  he  now  approached  the  prisoner;  speaking  in  a  low 
tone  of  soliloquy  all  the  while,  as  much,  seemingly,  for  Bars- 
field's  edification  as  for  his  own. 

"  I  will  jist  make  bold,  Oappin  Barsfield,  to  give  you  a  hitch 
or  two  in  the  way  of  friendship.  You  shall  have  as  fast  bind 
ing  a  title  to  this  little  bit  of  a  bed  as  time  and  present  sar- 
cumstances  will  permit.  It's  only  for  your  safe  keeping  and  our 
safe  running,  you  see,  that  I  does  it.  I'll  hitch  up  your  legs  — 
there,  don't  be  scared,  they  shall  go  together  —  to  this  same 
bench  here ;  and  that,  you  see,  will  keep  them  from  coming 
too  close  after  ours.  And  as  for  the  little  bandage  over  your 
arms,  why,  you'll  have  to  wear  it  a  little  longer,  though  it's 
too  good  a  rag  for  me  to  leave  behind.  There  —  don't  jerk  or 
jump  now,  for  it  will  soon  be  done.  I'm  mighty  quick  fixing 
such  matters  as  these,  and  it  takes  me  no  time  to  hitch  up  a 
full-blooded  tory  when  once  I  gits  my  thumb  and  forefinger 
*pon  him.  There." 

Thus  muttering,  he*  lashed  the  legs  of  the  prisoner  to  one 
j*  the  rude  seats  under  the  magnolias ;  and,  freeing  his  com 
panion  from  the  further  restraints  of  his  watch,  the  two  pre 
pared  to  start— -Wither spoon,  unseen  by  Mellichampe,  having 
first  possessed  himself  of  the  sword  of  the  tory,  which  he  ap 
propriated  with  all  the  composure  of  a  veteran  scout.  They 


136  MELLICHAMTK. 

soon  found  their  way  out  of  the  garden,  through  the  darkest 
of  its  alleys,  and  they  could  not  have  gone  far  into  the  forest 
when  Blonay,  who  seemed  to  have  timed  his  movements  with 
admirable  accuracy,  approached  the  spot  where  Barsfield  lay 
struggling.  The  tory  was  completely  in  toils  —  his  feet  anl 
hands  tied  securely,  and  his  mouth  so  bandaged  that  but  a 
slight  moaning  was  suffered  at  intervals  to  escape  him  in  his 
efforts  at  speech.  With  well-acted  zeal  and  a  highly  becom 
ing  indignation,  Blonay,  as  soon  as  he  discerned  the  situation 
of  his  employer,  busied  himself  at  his  release.  Enraged  at 
the  humiliation  to  which  he  had  been  subjected,  and  at  the 
escape  of  his  enemy,  Barsfield  demanded  why  he  had  not  come 
sooner.  But  to  this  the  other  had  his  answer.  He  had  fol 
lowed  the  tory's  directions,  and  had  kept  the  lower  fence  of 
the  garden  winding  into  the  woods,  and  had  crossed  it  at  a 
point  which  had  been  designated  for  him ;  by  which  it  had 
been  Barsfield's  hope,  that,  flying  from  him,  the  fugitive  must 
be  encountered  by  his  coadjutor. 

"  You  went  too  far  round,"  said  the  commander,  sullenly  ; 
"  and  yet  they  are  but  a  few  moments  gone.  You  say  you 
have  not  seen  them?" 

The  answer  was  negative. 

"  It  is  strange :  but,  by  G — d,  it  shall  not  always  be  thus, 
Come  with  me.  sir;  I  will  talk  with  you  in  my  chamber." 

And  they  retired  to  confer  upon  the  scheme  which  the  tory 
bad  proposed  to  Blonay  just  before  the  adventure  of  the  garden. 

We  will  now  leave  them  and  return  to  the  fugitives,  who 
were  already  far  away  upon  their  flight  to  the  spot  where  their 
horses  had  been  hidden.  The  first  words  of  Mellichampe  to 
his  companion  were  those  of  reproach  — 

"  Why  did  you  follow  me  when  I  forbade  it,  John  Wither- 
spoon  ?" 

"Well,  now,  Airnest,  I  think  that's  ho  sort  of  a  question 
seeing  the  good  that's  come  of  ray  following." 

"  True,  you  have  served  me,  and  perhaps  saved  me ;  but 
what  will  Janet  think  of  me  when  she  recovers  from  her  fright? 
She  will  think  I  brought  you  there,  and  that  you  overheard 
what  passed  between  us." 


A    VUIKNDLY    HITUti.  137 

"Well,  she'll  think  wrong,  Airnest,  if  she  does.  It's  true,  I 
did  hear  a  good  deal,  but  that  was  owing  to  the  necessity  of 
being  close  upon  the  haunches  of  that  other  chap.  As  a  true 
man,  Airnest,  I  never  wanted  to  hear,  and  I  did  not  get  close 
enough  to  hear,  till  that  skunk  come  out  from  behind  the  pear- 
tree,  and  I  saw  him  sneaking  round  to  the  magnolias.  Then 
it  was  I  came  out  too,  and  only  then  it  was  I  heard  the  talk 
between  you." 

"  It  matters  not  now,  Witherspoon  ;  my  fear  is  that  it  may 
pain  Janet  to  suppose  that  my  friends  are  brought  to  overhear 
that  language  which  a  young  lady  should  only  think  to  herself, 
and  can  only  utter  to  one  ;  and  no  motive  of  regard  for  my 
safety,  though  so  far  warranted  by  circumstances  as  upon  the 
present  occasion,  should  have  prompted  you  to  do  so." 

"  But  I  had  another  reason,  Airnest,  that  is  a  good  reason,  I 
know.  Just  after  I  left  you  came  one  of  Marion's  road-riders, 
Humphries,  you  know,  calling  in  the  scouts ;  and  you're 
wanted,  and  I'm  wanted,  and  we're  all  of  us  wanted,  for  there's 
to  be  a  power  of  the  tories  gathering  in  two  days  at  Sinkler's 
Meadow,  and  the  '  fox'  is  mighty  hungry  to  git  at  'em.  I  have 
the  marks  and  the  signals,  and  we  must  push  on  directly. 
It'll  take  us  three  good  hours  more  to  work  our  way  into  the 
swamp." 

"  Ah !  then  we  ha^e  little  time  to  waste,"  was  the  prompt 
reply ;  and,  scouring  down  the  road,  they  came  to  the  broken 
branch  which  lay  across  the  path,  and  indicated  by  its  own 
the  position  of  its  fellow.  Following  the  directions  given  by 
Humphries,  they  were  soon  met  by  the  line  of  sentinels,  and 
the  path  grew  cheery  after  a  while,  when  the  occasional  chal 
lenge,  and  the  distant  hum  and  stir  of  an  encampment,  an 
nounced  the  proximity  of  Marion  in  his  wild  swamp  dwelling 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  TORY  CAPTAIN  AND  THE  LADY. 

THE  reflections  of  Barsfield  were  by  no  means  consolatory 
or  grateful  on  his  return  to  the  mansion.  A  few  moments  were 
devoted  to  Blonay,  of  whom  the  tory  felt  perfectly  secure,  and 
the  two  then  separated  for  the  night,  seeking  their  several 
chambers.  In  the  morning  the  latter  was  up  betimes,  and, 
descending  to  the  breakfast-room,  the  first  person  who  encoun 
tered  his  glance  was  the  fair  Janet  Berkeley. 

She  was  alone.  A  slight  flush  overspread  her  cheek  as  lie 
entered  the  apartment;  but  he  was  not  the  person  exactly 
who  could  greatly  disturb  her  equanimity.  Her  eye  was  cold 
and  unshrinking,  and  her  courtesy  as  easy,  unconstrained,  and 
:-tant  as  ever.  The  case  was  widely  different  with  him. 
started  as  he  beheld  her— turned  away  without  the 
usual  salutation  — then,  suddenly  conscious  of  his  rudeness, 
he  wheeled  round,  vis  if  about  to  charge  an  enemy,  confronted 
her  valiantly  enough,  and  bowed  stiffly,  and  with  evident 
effort  For  a  few  moments  no  word  passed  between  the  two, 
and  this  time  was  employed  by  Barsfield  in  pacing  to  and  fro 
along  the  apartment.  At  length,  muttering  something  to  him- 
i  ulf,  the  sounds  of  which  were  only  just  audible  to  the  maiden, 
.e  walked  into  the  corridor,  looked  hastily  around,  and  then 
quickly,  as  if  he  wished  to  anticipate  intrusion,  re-entered  the 
room,  and-at  once  approached  the  maiden. 

"Miss  Berkeley,"  be  said,  "it  is  unnecessary  that  I  should 
remind  you  of  last  evening's  adventure.  The  circumstances 
cuu  not  have  been  forgotten,  though  the  singular  composure  of 


THE    TOIiV    OAi'TAlN    AJMU    TIIlL    LADY.  189 

your  countenance  this  morning  would  seem  to  imply  a  strange 
lack  of  memory  on  your  part,  or  a  far  stranger  indifference  to 
its  intimations." 

He  paused,  as  if  in  expectation  of  some  reply,  and  she  did 
not  suffer  him  long  to  wait..  Her  response  was  instantaneous, 
and  her  equable  expression  of  countenance  unbroken. 

"  There  is  nothing  strange,  sir,  I  believe,  if  you  will  consider 
well  the  subject  of  which  you  speak.  I  know  of  no  circum 
stances  so  strong  in  my  memory  which  should  disturb  my 
composure,  however  some  of  them  may  affect  yours.  Are  you 
not  suffering  from  some  mistake,  sir?" 

"  Scarcely,  scarcely,  Miss  Berkeley,"  he  exclaimed,  hur 
riedly  ;  "  though,  I  must  confess,  your  reply  astounds  me  not 
less  now  than  your  composure  at  our  first  meeting.  Will  you 
pretend,  Miss  Berkeley,  that  you  were  not  in  the  garden  at  a 
late  hour  of  last  night  ?" 

"  I  saw,  sir,  that  you  must  labor  under  some  mistake,  and 
ouch  is  certainly  the  case  when  you  presume  to  examine  me 
thus.  But  I  will  relieve  the  curiosity  which  seems  to  have 
superseded  all  your  notions  of  propriety,  and  at  once  say  that 
I  was  in  the  garden  last  night" 

"  'Tis  well  —  and  there  you  saw  another." 
•'  True,  sir.     I  then  and  there  saw  another." 
"A  rebel — a  lurking  rebel,  Miss  Berkeley." 
"  A  .brave   man,  a  gentleman,  an  honest  citizen,  sir.     My 
friend — my  father's  friend — " 

"  Say  not  so,  for  your  father's  sake,  Miss  Berkeley,  I  pray 
you.  It  would  greatly  endanger  the  safety  of  your  father, 
were  it  known  in  the  councils  of  Cornwallis  that  the  son  of  the 
notorious  Max  Mellichampe  was  his  friend ;  and  still  more, 
were  it  known  that  they  were  in  intimate  communion." 

"  I  said  not  that,  Captain  Barsfield,  'I  said  not.  that"  was 
the  hasty  reply  of  Janet,  in  tones  and  with  a  manner  that 
showed  how  much  she  apprehended  the  consequences  which 
might  arise  from  such  an  interpretation  of  her  remark.  Bars- 
field  smiled  when  he  saw  this,  as  he  felt  the  consciousness  of 
that  power  which  her  words  had  given  him  over  her.  She 
continued  :  "  Do  not,  I  pray  you,  think  for  a  moment  that  m\ 


140  MIOLLICUAMl'E. 

father  knows  anything  of  the  visits  of  Mr.  Mellichampe.       .e 
came  only  to  see  me " 

The  tory  interrupted  her  with  a  sarcastic  smile  and  spe    /!\ : 

"  And  I  am  to  understand  that  the  dutiful  Miss  Berk*  icy 
consents  to  receive  the  visits  of  a  gentleman  Avithout  the  c*  :i 
currence,  and  against  the  will,  of  her  father  ?  A  dilemma,  :  \ 
it  not,  Miss  Berkeley  ?" 

"  I  will  not  submit  to  be  questioned,  sir,"  was  her  prompt 
reply  ;  and  her  eye  glanced  a  haughty  fire,  before  which  that 
of  the  lowly-bred  tory  quailed  utterly.  "You  again  mistake 
me,  sir,  and  do  injustice  to  my  father,  when  you  venture  such 
an  inquisition  into  my  habits.  I  am  free,  sir,  to  act  as  my  own 
sense  and  discretion  shall  counsel.  My  father  is  not  unwilling 
that  I  should  obey  my  own  tastes  and  desires  in  the  selection 
of  my  associates,  and  to  him  alone  am  I  willing  to  account." 

She  turned  away  as  she  spoke,  and  busied  herself,  or  seemed 
to  busy  herself,  with  some  of  the  affairs  of  the  household,  with 
the  object,  evidently,  of  arresting  all  farther  conversation 
But  with  the  pause  of  a  few  moments,  in  which  he  seemed  to 
be  adjusting  in  his  own  mind  the  doubt  and  difficulty,  Bars- 
field  put  on  an  air  of  decision,  and  readvanced  to  the  maiden. 

"Hear 'me  but  a  few  moments,  Miss  Berkeley,  and  be  not 
impatient ;  and,  should  any  of  my  words  be  productive  of 
annoyance,  I  pray  you  to  overlook  them,  in  consideration  of 
the  difficulties  which,  as  you  will  see,  may  soon  lie  before 
you." 

"  Difficulties  !  —  but  go  on,  sir." 

"  I  need  not  say  that  I  was  a  witness  to  your  conference 
with  this  young  man  last  night." 

"You  need  not,  sir,"  was  her  reply,  with  a  manner  that  gave 
life  to  the  few  words  she  uttered.  A  scowl  went  over  the 
tory's  face,  obscuring  it  for  a  moment,  but  he  recovered  in 
stantly. 

"  I  heard  you  both,  and  I  felt  sorry  that  you  should  have 
risked  your  affections  so  unprofitably." 

The  maiden  smiled  her  acknowledgments,  and  he  proceeded. 

"  Fortunately,  however,  for  you  at  least,  such  ties  as  these, 
particularly  where  the  parties  are  so  young  as  in  the  present 


THE   TOBY    CAPTAIN    AJiD   THE    LADY.  141 


instance,  are  of  no  great  strength,  and  are  seldom  duraw'e. 
They  can  be  broken,  and  usually  are,  with  little  detriment  to 
either  party." 

"  I  purpose  on  my  part,  sir,  nothing  of  the  kind,'*  was  her 
cool  reply,  interrupting  him,  as  he  was  about  to  continue  in  a 
speech  of  so  much  effrontery,  and  which  was  so  little  grat 
ifying  to  his  auditor;  "I  purpose  not  to  try  the  strength  or 
durability  of  any  of  the  ties  which  I  have  made,  Captain 
Barsfield." 

"But  you  will,  Miss  Berkeley  —  you  must,  as  soon  as  you  dis- 
.  cover  that  such  ties  are  unprofitable,  and  beyond  any  hope  of 
realization.  The  man  with  whom  your  pledge  is  exchanged 
is  a  doomed  man!" 

"  How,  sir  ?  —  speak  !" 

"  He  fights  with  a  halter  about  his  neck,  and  his  appearance 
last  night  in  the  neighborhood  of  my  troop  is  of  itself  suffi 
cient  for  his  condemnation,  as  it  leads  to  his  conviction  as 
a  spy  !" 

"  I  can  share  his  doom,  Captain  Barsfield,  though  I  believe 
not  that  such  is  within  your  power.  I  can  not  think  that  Lord 
Cornwallis  has  conferred  upon  you  any  such  authority." 

"  This  parchment,  this  commission,  and  these  more  expres 
sive  orders,  Miss  Berkeley,  would  tell  you  even  more  —  woulr 
tell  you  that  your  own  father  is  at  my  mercy  at  this  very  mo 
ment,  as  one,  under  your  own  avowal,  privy  to  the  presence  o*' 
a  rebel  as  a  spy  upon  my  command.  My  power  gives  me  ju 
risdiction  even  over  his  life,  as  you  might  hero  read  for  your 
self,  were  not  my  words  sufficient." 

"  They  are  not  —  they  are  not,"  she  exclaimed  hastily,  and 
trembling  all  over.  "  I  will  not  believe  it  ;  let  me  see  the 
paper." 

"Pardon  me;  Miss  Berkeley,  but  I  may  not  now.  It  is  suf 
ficient  for  me  that  I  know  the  extent  of  my  power  and  its 
limits.  It  is  not  necessary  that  I  should  unfold  it." 

"  I  will  not  believe  it,  then  —  I  will  not  trust  a  word  that  you 
have  said.  I  can  not  think  that  the  British  general  can  have 
thought  a  thing  so  barbarous  —  so  dishonorable." 

"  It  is  so,   nevertheless,  Miss  Berkeley  ;  but  thero  will  be 


little  or  no  danger  to  the  father,  if  the  daughter  will  listen  tc 
reason.      Will  you  hear  me  ?" 

"  Can  J  do  less,  Captain  Barsfield  ?  —  go  on,  sir." 

I  accept  the  permission,  however  ungraciously  given. 
Hear  me,  then.  These  vows  —  the  ties  of  childhood,  and  re 
straining  none  hut  children  —  can  hardly  he  considered,  when 
circumstances  so  bear  against  them.  I  have  a  perfect  knowl 
edge  of  all  the  circumstances  between  yourself  and  this  rebel 
Mellichampe." 

"  You  have  not  said,  sir,  and  I  marvel  at  the  omission,  with 
what  wonderful  ingenuity  your  knowledge  was  obtained." 

"  Your  sarcasm  is  pointless,  Miss  Berkeley,  when  we  know 
that  a  time  like  the  present  not  only  sanctions,  but  calls  for 
and  commands,  all  those  little  arts  by  which  intelligence  of 
one's  enemies  is  to  be  obtained.  Is  it  my  offence  or  my  good 
fort itne,  to  have  heard  more  than  concerned  the  cause  for  which 
I  contend?  Certainly  not  my  offence  ;  it  is  for  you  to  say 
how  far  it  may  be  for  my  good  fortune." 

"To  the  point — to  the  point,  Captain  Barsfield,  if  you 
please." 

"  It  is  quite  as  well,"  he  responded,  with  a  sullen-  air  of 
determination,  as  the  impatient  manner  of  Janet  showed  how 
unwillingly  she  listened  :  "'tis  quite  as  well  that  I  should  — 
and  all  I  ask  from  you  now,  Miss  Berkeley,  is  simply  that  you 
should  heed  and  deliberate  upon  what  I  unfold,  and  make  no 
rash  nor  ill-considered  decision  upon  it  First,  then,  let  me 
say,  that  your  father  is  in  my  power  —  but  in  mine  alone.  I 
am  willing  to  be  his  friend  henceforward,  as  I  have  been  here 
tofore.  1  am  able  and  desirous  to  protect  him,  as  well  against 
the  rebels  as  from  the  injustice  of  such  loyalists  as  might  pre 
sume  upon  his  weakness  to  do  him  wrong  ;  but  I  am  not  suf 
ficiently  his  friend  or  my  own  enemy,  to  do  all  this  without 
some  eq  uvalcnt.  There  must  be  a  consideration." 

lie  paused  ;  and,  as  the  maiden  perceived  it,  she  spoke,  while 
a  smile  of  the  most  provoking  indifference,  suddenly,  though 
for  a  moment  onlj',  curled  the  otherwise  calm  and  dignified 
folds  of  her  lips  — 

"  I  can  almost   conjecture   what   you   would    say,  Captain 


THE  TOKY  CAPTAIN  AND  THE  LADY. 

Barsfield  ;  but  speak  on,  sir,  I  pray  you.  Let  there  b&  an  end 
of  this.'' 

"  I  can  scruple  little  to  say  out  what  you  assume  to  have 
conjectured  so  readily,  Miss  Berkeley  ;  and  I  speak  my  equiv 
alent  the  more  readily,  as  "you  seem  so  well  prepared  to  hear  it. 
You,  then,  are  the  equivalent  for  this  good  service,  Miss  Berke 
ley.  Your  hand  wjjl  he  my  sufficient  reward,  and  my  good 
services  shall  ever  after  be  with  your  father  for  his  protection 
and  assistance." 

"Think  of  something1  else,  Captain  Barsfield,"  she  replied, 
with  the  utmost  gravity;  "something  better  worthy  of  th«> 
service —  something  better  suited  to  you.  I  am  not  ambitious, 
sir,  of  the  distinction  you  would  confer  upon  me.  My  hopes 
arc  humble,  my  desires  few;  and  my  father  —  but  hero  he 
comes.  I  will  speak  of  this  affair  no  further." 

And  she  turned  away  with  the  words,  Just  as  the  old  man, 
entering,  met  the  baffled  tory  with  some  usual  inquiry  as  to 
the  manner  in  which  he  had. slept,  and  if  his  bed  had  been 
pleasant;  and  all  with  that  provoking  simplicity  that  wag 
only  the  more  annoying  to  Barsfield,  as  it  brought  the  com 
monest  matters  of  daily  life  into  contrast  and  collision  with 
those  more  important  and  interesting  ones,  in  the  discussion 
and  urging  of  which  he  had  but  a  few  moments  before  been  so 
earnest.  He  replied  as  well  as  he  could  to  the  old  gentleman, 
who  complained  bitterly  of  his  own  restlessness  during  -the 
night,  and  of  strange  noises  that  had  beset  his  ears,  and  so 
forth  —  a  long  string  of  details,  that  silenced  all  around,  with 
out  the  usual  advantage  which  such  narrations  possess,  toward 
nightfall,  of  setting  everybody  to  sleep.  But  the  signal  was 
now  given  for  breakfast,  and  the  lively  Rose  Duncan  made 
her  appearance,  bright  and  smiling  as  ever;  then  came  Lieu 
tenant  Clayton ;  and  lastly,  our  old  acquaintance  Blonay. 
Breakfast  was  soon  despatched,  and  was  scarcely  over  when 
Barsfield,  who  had  given  orders  for  his  troops  to  move,  took 
Mr.  Berkeley  aside.  Their  conversation  was  long  and  earnest, 
though  upon  what  subject  remained,  for  a  season  at  least, 
entirely  unknown  to  the  household,  Janet,  howler,  could 
not  but  remark  that  a  deeper  shadow  rested  upon  the  visage 


144  MELLICHAMPE. 

of  her  father;  and  even  Rose  Duncan,  playful  and  thoughtless  as  she 
ever  was,  complained  that  during  the  whole  day  her  uncle  had  never 
once  asked  her  for  a  song,  or  challenged  her  to  a  game  at  draughts. 

"Something  wrong,  Janet,"  she  exclaimed  to  her  companion, 
after  freely  remarking  upon  the  condition  of  things;  "something 
wrong,  I'm  certain.  This  tory  lover  of  yours  is  at  the  bottom  of  it. " 

And,  without  pausing  for  reply,  she  whirled  away  in  all  the 
evolutions  of  the  Meschianza,  humming,  like  some  errant  bird,  a 
wild  song,  that  did  not  materially  disagree  with  the  capricious  move 
ment.  Janet  only  answered  with  a  sigh  as  she  ascended  to  her 
chamber, 


THE    HALF-B3Trj*D   TKA1LS    HI8    ENEMY.  14 S 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE    HALF-BREED    TRAILS    HIS    ENEMY. 

BARSFIELD  ordered  a  guard  of  ten  men,  and  prepared  to  ride 
over  to  the  "Kaddipah"  plantation  —  the  reward  of  his  good 
services  in  the  tory  warfare.  The  distance  between  the  two 
p]aceB  was  but  five  miles ;  and,  in  the  present  prostrate  con 
dition  of  Carolina  affairs,  ten  men  were  deemed  quite  ade 
quate  for  his  protection.  They  might  not  have  been,  had  the 
"  swamp  fox"  been  warned  of  his  riding  soon  enough  to  have, 
prepared  a  reception.  Clayton  was  left  in  charge  of  the  troop ; 
and  in  no  very  pleasant  humor  did  the  tory  proceed  to  leave 
the  mansion  of  Mr.  Berkeley.  He  had  not,  of  late  years,  been 
much  accustomed  to  contradictions  of  any  sort ;  and  his 
recent  elevation,  as  an  officer  of  the  British  army,  tended  still 
more  to  make  him  restiff  under  restraint  or  opposition.  He 
was  disappointed  in  the  effect  which  he  had  promised  himself 
to  produce  upon  the  mind  of  Janet  Berkeley,  from  a  display 
of  the  power  of  which  he  was  possessed,  and  still  more  annoyed 
at  the  cool,  sarcastic  temper  which  she  had  shown  during  their 
conference.  Her  frank  avowal  of  the  interest  which  she  felt 
in  Melhchampe  —  the  calm  indifference  with  which  she  listened 
to  his  remarks  upon  the  nocturnal  interview  with  her  lover  — 
and  the,  consequences  of  that  interview  to  himself — these 
were  all  matters  calculated  to  vex  and  imbitter  his  mood,  as 
he  rode  forth  from  the  spot  in  which  they  had  taken  place. 
His  manner  was  stern,  accordingly,  to  his  lieutenant,  Clayton, 
while  giving  him  his  orders,  and  haughty,  in  the  last  degree, 
to  the  men  under  him.  Not  KG,  however,  was  his  treatment  of 
Blonay,  whom  lie  heard  calling  familiarly  to  his  dog,  and  who 


14t>  MKLLlCHAMPiv 


stood   ready,  about  to  mount  his  tacky,  as  if  going  forth 
witli  himself. 

"  You  go  with  me,  Mr.  Blonay  ?"  was  his  question  to  the 
half-breed,  uttered  in  the  mildest  language. 

"  Well,  cappin,  I  reckon  it's  best  that  I  should  go  'long  with 
you  'tell  I  can  hear  something  of  Marion's  men  When  I 
hears  where  to  look  for  'em  I  reckon  I'll  leave  you,  seeing  it's 
no  use  for  me  to  go  scouting  with  a  dozen.' 

"  You  are  right,"  was  the  response  ;  "  but  fall  behind  till  I 
send  the  men  forward  ;  I  would  have  some  talk  with  you." 

Blonay  curbed  his  pony,  called  in  his  dog,  and  patiently 
waited  until,  sending  his  men  forward  under  a  sergeant,  Bars 
field  motioned  him  to  follow  with  himself. 

"  You  were  sadly  at  fault  last  night,  Mr.  Blonay,"  was  the 
first  remark  which  he  made  to  the  half-breed,  as  they  entered 
upon  the  avenue;  "it  is  to  be  hoped  that  you  will  soon  do 
better." 

"'Tworn't  my  fault,  cappin  —  I  did  as  you  tell'd  me,"  was 
the  quiet  answer. 

"  Well,  perhaps  so  ;  you  are  right,  I  believe.  I  did  send 
you  too  far  round.  That  confounded  garden  holds  several 
acres." 

"  Five,  I  reckon,"  said  the  other.  Barsfield  did  not  heed 
the  remark,  but  abruptly  addressed  him  on  the  subject  which 
was  most  active  in  his  thoughts. 

"  You  hold  your  mind,  Mr.  Blonay,  I  presume,  for  this  adven 
ture  !  You  will  undertake  the  business  which  I  gave  you  in 
hand  ?  You  have  no  fears  —  no  scruples?" 

"  Well,  I  reckon  it's  a  bargin,  cappin.  I'll  do  your  business 
if  so  be  I  kin,  and  if  so  be  it  doesn't  take  me  from  my  own. 
I  puts  my  own  first,  cappin,  you  see,  for  'twould  be  agin  natui 
if  I  didn't." 

"  You  are  perfectly  right  to  do  so  ;  but  I  am  in  hope,  and  I 
believe,  that  you  will  soon  find  our  business  to  lie  together 
If  the  enemy  you  seek  be  one  of  Marion's  men,  so  ismy  enemy  . 
rihould  you  find  one,  you  will  most  probably  get  some  clew  to 
the  other;  and  the  one  object,  in  this  way,  may  help  you  to 
both." 


THE    HALF-IiRKKI)   TRAILS    HIS    ENEMY. 

"And  you  think,  cappin,  that  Marion's  men  is  in  these 
parts?" 

"  Think  ! — I  know  it.  The  appearance  of  this  youth  Melll- 
champe,  with  his  cursed  Inseparable  Witherspoon,  as  good  as 
proves  it  to  me.  Not  that  they  are  strong,  or  in  any  force  ; 
on  the  contrary,  my  letters  tell  me  that  the  rebels  have,  in  a 
great  many  instances,  deserted  their  leader,  and  gone  into 
North  Carolina.  Indeed,  they  say  he  himself  has  gone  ;  but 
this  I  believe  not :  he  still  lurks,  I  am  convinced,  in  the 
swamp,  with  a  small  force,  which  we  shall  quickly  ferret  out 
when  we  have  got  our  whole  force  together.'  To-morrow  we 
go  to  meet  our  volunteer  loyalists  at  '  Sinkler's  Meadow,' 
where  they  assemble,  and  where  I  am  to  provide  them  with 


"  There's  a-many  of  them  to  be  there,  cappin  ?"  was  the 
inquiry  of  Blonay. 

"  Two  hundred  or.  more.  The  wagons  which  you  saw  carry 
their  supplies." 

The  tory  captain,  in  this  way,  civilly  enough  responded  to 
other  questions  of  the  half-breed,  the  object  of  which  he  did 
not  see ;  and  in  this  manner  they  conversed  together  until  the 
guard  had  emerged  from  the  avenue  into  the  main  road,  and 
was  now  fully  out  of  sight.  Interested  in  giving  to  his  com 
panion  as  precise  a  description  as  possible  of  the  person,  the 
habits,  and  character  of  Mellichampe,  which  he  did  at  intervals 
throughout  the  dialogue,  Barsfiehl  had  moved  on  slowly,  and 
had  become  rather  regardless  of  the  movement  of  his  men, 
until,  reaching  the  entrance  of  the  avenue,  he  grew  conscious 
of  the  distance  between  them,  and  immediately  increased-  his 
pace.  But  Blonay  did  otherwise  ;  he  drew  up  his  pony  at  this 
point,  and  seemed  indisposed  to  go  forward. 

"  Why  do  you  stop?"  cried  the  tory,  looking  back  over  hi< 
shoulder.  The  answer  of  Blonay  satisfied  him. 

"  I  forgot  something,  cappin — the  knife  and  the  pass.  I 
must  go  back,  but  I'll  be  after  you  mighty  quick." 

Without  waiting  for  the  assent  of  his  employer,  he  started 
oft'  on  his  return,  pricking  the  sides  of  his  pony  with  a  degiee 
of  earnestness. to  which  the  little  animal  was  not  accustomed 


14$  MKLLICIIAMPE. 

and  which  he  acknowledged  by  setting  off  at  a  rate  which 
seemed  infinitely  beyond  his  capacities.  Barsfield  was  satis 
fied  to  call  to  him  to  follow  soon ;  and,  putting  the  rowel  to 
his  own  steed,  he  hurried  forward  to  resume  his  place  at  the 
head  of  his  men. 

But  it  was  not  the  intention  of  Blonay  to  go  back  to  the 
dwelling  which  he  had  so  lately  left.  lie  was  practising  a 
very  simple  ruse  upon  his  companion.  lie  had  forgotten  noth 
ing —  neither  knife  nor  passport;  and  his  object  was  merely  to 
be  relieved  from  observation,  and  to  pursue  his  farther  journey 
alone.  He  had  a  good  motive  for  this  ;  and  had  resolved,  with 
certain  efficient  reasons,  which  had  come  to  him  at  the  moment 
of  leaving  the  avenue,  to  pursue  a  different  route  from  that  of 
the  toiy. 

After  riding  a  little  way  up  the  avenue,  he  came  to  a  halt; 
and,  giving  the  toiy  leader  full  time,  not  only  to  reach  his 
men,  but  to  get  out  of  sight  and  hearing  with  them,  he  coolly 
turned  himself  round  and  proceeded  to  the  spot  where  they 
had  separated.  Here  he  alighted,  and  his  keen  eyes  exam 
ined  the  road,  and  carefully  inspected  those  tracks  upon  it,  a 
casual  glance  at  which,  as  he  rode  out  with  Barsfield,  had  de 
termined  him  upon  the  course  which  he  had  taken.  He  looked 
at  all  the  horse-tracks,  and  one  freshly  made  in  particular. 
The  identical  outline  of  shoe,  which  he  had  so  closely  noticed 
on  the  battle-ground  of  Dorchester,  \vas  obviously  before  him; 
and.  remounting  his  horse,  he  followed  it  slowly  and  with  cer 
tainty.  Barsfield  more  than  once  looked  round  for  his  ally, 
but  he  looked  in  vain  ;  and  each  step  taken  by  both  parties 
m;ide  the  space  greater  between  them.  The  half-breed  kept 
his  way,  or  rather  that  of  his  enemy,  whom  he  followed  with  a 
spirit  duly  enlivened  by  a  consciousness  that  he  was  now  upon 
the  direct  track. 

In  this  pursuit  the  route  of  Blonay  was  circuitous  in  the  ex 
treme.  He  had  proceeded  but  a  mile  or  so  along  the  main 
road,  when  the  marks  which  guided  him  turned  off  into  an  old 
field,  and  led  him  to  the  very  spot  where  we  discovered  Melli- 
champe  and  Witherspoon  the  day  before.  The  keen  eye  of 
the  half-breed  soon  discovered  traces  of  a  human  haunt,  but 


THE    HALF-BltEKD    TRAILS    HIS    ENEMY. 

nothing  calculated  to  arrest  his  progress,  as  the  marks  of  the 
flying  horseman  were  still  onward.  Obliquely  from  this  point 
still  farther  to  the  right,  he  entered  a  dense  forest.  Here  hi 
made  his  way  with  difficulty,  only  now  and  then  catching  the- 
indent  of  the  shoe.  He  soon  emerged  from  the  thick  wood,  a,:  i 
the  path  was  then  open.  Here,  too,  he  discovered  that  there 
had  been  an  assemblage  of  persons,  as  the  ground,  in  a  liUfo 
spot,  was  much  beaten  by  hoofs,  and  still  prominent  among 
them  was  that  which  he  sought  in  chief.  This  encouraged 
him ;  and,  as  the  whole  body  assembled  at  the  spot  seemed  to 
have  kept  together,  he  had  no  little  difficulty  in  continuing  th. 
search.  At  length  the  road  grew  somewhat  miry  and  sloppy. 
Little  bays  at  intervals  crossed  his  path,  through  which  th« 
horsemen  before  him  seemed  to  have  gone  without  hesitation 
The  forests  were  now  broken  into  hammocks,  which  were  in 
dented  by  small  bodies  of  water.  Here  the  cypress  began  to 
send  up  its  pyramidal  shapes;  and  groves  of  the  tallest  cane 
shot  up  in  dense  masses  around  it.  The  cressets  lay  green 
upon  the  surface  of  the  dark  pond,  and  the  yellow  and  purple 
mosses  of  the  festering  banks  presented  themselves  to  his  eyes 
in  sufficient  quantity  to  announce  his  proximity  to  the  swamp. 

But  to  Blonay,  thoroughly  taught  in  all  the  intricacies  of 
the  "  cypress,"  its  presence  offered  no  discouragement  whatso 
ever  to  the  pursuit.  At  length,  reaching  an  extensive  pond, 
he  Ipst  all  trace  of  the  horses.  He  saw  at  once  that  they  had 
entered  the  water;  but  where  had  they  emerged?  The  oppo 
site  banks  were  crowded  close  to  the  water's  edge  with  the 
thickest  undergrowth -mingled  with  large  trees,  whose  quiet 
seemed  never  to  have  been  disturbed  with  the  axe  of  the  wood 
man  or  the  horn  of  the  hunter.  The  wild  vine  an",  the  clus 
tering  brier,  the  slender  but  numerous  canes,  the  gum-shoot?., 
cypress  knees  or  knobs,  and  the  bay,  seemed  to  have  been 
welded  together  into  a  solid  wall,  defying  the  footsteps  of  any 
invader  more  bulky  than  the  elastic  black-snake,  or  less  vig 
orous  and  well-coated  than  the  lusty  bear. 

Blonay  saw  the  impervious  nature  of  the  copse  ;  but  ho  also 
felt  assured  that  the  pursuit  must  lead  him  into  and  through  it 
He  gaw  that  through  it  the  wen  must  have  gone  whose  foot 


150  S1ICLLIC11AMPK. 

J('jp:>  he  Lad  followed,  and  lie  accordingly  soon  completed  lnt» 
-.rsolvcs  as  to  what  he  should  himself  do.  He  slowly  led  his 
fv.r.so  back  to  a  spot  of  land  the  highest  in  the  neighborhood. 
leaving  done  thin,  he  fastened  him  to  a  shrub;  then  sought 
ant  one  of  the  loftiest,  trees,  which  he  ascended  with  habitual 
p  'id  long-tried  dexterity. 

ilis  elevation  gave  him  a  full  and  fine  view  of  the  expansive 
swamp  before  him.  He  looked  down  upon  the  pale,  ghostly 
fiyus  of  the  old  cypresses,  sprinkled  with  the  green  cedar,  and 
h?re  and  there,  where  the  sand  was  high  enough  to  yield  a  bed 
GiithViently  spacious  for  so  comprehensive  a  body,  the  huge  and 
high  shaft  of  the  colossal  pine.  These  all  lay  before  him  — 
their  tops  llaf,  gently  waving  under  his  eye  beneath  the  slight 
wind  passing  over  them,  making  a  prospect  not  less  novel  than 
imposing. 

But  Blonay  had  no  eye  for  the  scene,  and  but  little  taste  for 
the  picturesque.  He  had  sought  his  giddy  perch  for  another 
purpose  ;  and  he  was  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his  labor  when. 
•it  the  distance  of  six  or  eight  hundred  yards  from  the  entrance 
of  the  swamp,  he  detected  a  slight  wreath  of  smoke  curling  up 
from  among  the  trees,  and  spreading  around  like  some  giant 
tree  itself,  as  if  in  protection  over  them.  He  noticed  well  in 
what  direction  the  smoke  arose,  and  quietly  descended  from 
his  place  uf  elevation. 

Keeping  this  direction  constantly  in  mind,  he  now  saw  that 
the  persons  he  pursued  must  have  gone  into  the  pond,  and  kept 
in  it  for  some  distance  afterward,  emerging  at  a  point  not  at 
that  moment  within  the  scope  of  his  vision.  He  doubted  not 
that,  following  the  same  course,  he  should  arrive  once  more 
upon'  their  traces  at  some  point  of  outlet  and  entrance. 

To  conjecture  thus,  was,  with  him,  to  determine.  He  touched 
liis  pony  smartly  with  his  whip,  and,  whistling  his  dog  to  fol- 
low,  plunged  fearlessly  into  the  pathless  space,  and  his  saddle- 
skrrts  were  soon  dipping  in  the  yellow  water.  He  kept  for 
ward,  however,  through  the  centre  of  the  pond,  and  was  soon 
Ratified  to  find  some  appearances  of  an  opening  before  him, 
On  liis  right  hand  the  pond  swept  round  a  point  of  land,  ma- 
into  the  copse,  and  forming  a  way  which  was  impercepti- 


THE    HALF-Withfcv    /RAILS    1IIS    ENEMY.  151 

blc  at  tbe  place  whence  he  had  originally  started.  He  dut 
not  scruple  to  pursue  it;  and,  passing  through  a  narrow  defiU 
of  water,  over  which  the  vines  ran  and  clambered,  thrusting 
their  sharp  points  continually  in  his  face,  and  making  his  prog 
ress  necessarily  slow,  he  at  length  ascended  a  little  bank,  and 
once  more  found  the  tracks  which  he  had  followed  so  fa: 
Giving  his  little  pony  a  few  moments  of  rest,  he  again  set  for 
ward  ;  and,  after  an  arduous  progress  of  an  hour,  he  began  to 
hear  sounds  which  imposed  upon  him  the  necessity  of  greater 
caution  in  his  progress.  The  hum  of  collected  men  —  their 
voices  —  the  occasional  neigh  of  the  horse — the  stroke  of  ihe 
axe  —  and  now  and  then  a  shout  —  announced  his  proximity  to 
the  camp. 

He  was  now  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  one  of  the  fa 
mous  retreats  of  "  the  swamp-fox  ;"  and,  dismounting  from  his 
nag,  which  he  carefully  fastened  in  a  secure  place  of  conceal 
ment,  he  went  forward  on  foot,  only  followed  by  his  dog ; 
moving  slowly,  and  scrutinizing,  as  he  did  so,  every  tree  and 
bush  that  might  afford  shelter  to  an  enemy.  He  still  advanced 
until  he  came  to  a  small  creek,  which  wound  sinuously  along 
before  him,  and  which  now  formed  the  only  barrier  between 
himself  and  the  retreat  of  the  partisans.  He  saw  their  steeds 
in  groups,  fastened  to  the  overhanging  branches  of  the  trees ; 
he  saw  the  troopers  lying  at  length  in  similar  places  of  shel 
ter — some  busied  in  the  duties  of  the  camp  and  of  preparation 
—  some  taking  their  late  breakfast,  and  others  moving  around 
as  sentinels,  one  of  whom  paced  to  and  fro  within  thirty  yards 
of  the  little  copse  from  which  he  surveyed  the  scene  in  safely. 

It  was  while  gazing  intently  on  the  personages  constituting 
these  several  groups,  that  Blonay  discovered  his  dog  in  rapid 
passage  acrosb  a  tree  that  lay  partly  over  the  creek  which  sep 
arated  him  from  the  encampment.  Attracted,  most  probably, 
by  the  good  savor  and  rich  steams  that  arose  from  a  huge  fire, 
over  which  our  old  acquaintance  Tom  was  providing  the  crea 
ture-comforts  of  the  day,  the  dog  made  his  way  without  look 
ing  behind  him,  and  Blonay  was  quite  too  nigh  the  sentinels 
to  venture  to  call  him  back  by  either  word  or  whistle.  Cursing 
the  cur  in  muttered  tones  to  himself,  he  drew  back  to  a  safer 


162 

'istance,  still  keeping  in  sight,  however,  of  the  entire  circuit 
i.^rcupied  by  the  partisans. 

Here  he  watched  a  goodly  hour,  taking  care  that  no  single 

movement  escaped  his  eye;  for,  as  he  had  now  found  out  one 
of  the  secret  paths  leading  directly  to  the  haunt  of  an  enemy 
so  much  dreaded  as  "  the  swamp-fox,"  he  determined  that  his 
knowledge  of  all  its  localities  should  be  complete,  the  better  to 
enhance  the  value,  and  necessarily  increase  the  reward,  which 
he  hoped  to  realize  from  its  discovery  to  some  one  or  other  of 
the  British  leaders.  Let  UP  now  penetrate  the  encampment 


THE    HALF-BKERD    IS    WINDED,  163 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE    HALF-BREED    IS    WINDEJ}. 

THE  hiding-place  of  Marion  was  admirably  chosen  in  all 
respects,  whether  as  regards  convenience  or  security.  It  was 
a  high  ridge  of  land,  well  timbered,  narrow,  and  long,  and  run 
ning  almost  centrally  into  the  swamp.  Two  or  three  outlets, 
known  only  to  the  partisans,  and  these,  as  we  have  seen,  in 
the  one  instance  already  described,  intricate  and  difficult  of 
access  even  to  the  initiated,  were  all  that  it  possessed  ;  and 
here,  secure  from  danger,  yet  not  remote  from  its  encounter, 
if  circumstances  or  his  own  desires  so  willed  it,  "the  swamp- 
fox"  lay  with  his  followers  during  brief  intervals  of  that  long 
strife  in  which  he  contended  for  his  country. 

His  force  was  feeble  at  this  period.  It  consisted  only  of  the 
pmall  bands  of  natives,  gathered  under  local  officers  chiefly 
fyorn  the  lower  country,  none  of  whom  had  ever  seen  what  was 
called  regular  service.  He  had  been  deserted  by  all  the  con 
tinentals  with  the  exception  of  two,  whom  he  had  rescued  from 
their  British  captors  soon  after  the  battle  of  Camden  ;  but, 
though  thus  few  in  number,  and  feeble  in  resource,  the  par 
tisan"  catching  the  full  spirit  of  their  leader,  were  never  in 
active. 

In  the  camp,  while  Blonay  looked  out  on  all  hands  for  his 
particular  victim,  the  stir  of  preparation  was  heard  by  the  over 
looking  spy.  Hurried  orders  were  given,  horses  were  put  in 
preparation,  swords  were  brandished,  and  rifles  charged  home. 
Amid  all  the  bustle,  there  Avas  still  room  for  jest  and  merri 
ment.  Like  boys  just  let  loose  from  school,  the  men  playfully 
gambolled  about  among  the  forest  avenues.  Here,  you  saw  a 
Mttlc  party  engaged  in  leaping;  there  were  others, hurling  the 


154  MKLLICIIAMPK. 

bar;  others,  again,  less  vigorously  limbed  or  winded,  held  sol 
emn  conclave,  in  deeper  thickets,  busy  in  all  the  intricacies  of 
"old  sledge"  (or  "seven  up"),  which,  in  that  unsophisticated 
period,  had  not  given  place  to  brag  and  poker. 

Of  all  the  groups  and  persons  visible  in  the  partisan  camp, 
there  was  but  a  single  individual  who  seemed  in  no  way  to 
participate  in  the  moods  and  employments  of  the  rest  —  whose 
thoughts  were  certainly  foreign  to  all  amusements.  This  mel 
ancholy  exception  was  no  other  than  our  philosophic  epicure, 
Lieutenant  Porgy.  You  behold  him,  where  he  sits  upon  a 
fallen  tree,  his  belt  undone,  his  sword  across  his  lap,  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  his  great  chin  within  his  palms,  his  eyes  looking 
'lit  vacantly  and  sadly,  without  seeming  to  perceive  the  groups 
(r  the  sports  around  him.  He  sits  in  silence,  for  a  wonder; 
lie  has  no  soliloquies ;  and  when  he  seems  to  be  growing 
thoughtful,  it  is  with  such  a  disconsolate  expression,  that  one 
apprehends  some  very  serious  misfortunes  impending.  Why 
should  Porgy  be  sad?  Perhaps  he  has  gone  without  his  sup 
per.  The  new  swamps  have  probably  failed  in  the  treasures 
of  terrapin  which  endeared  those  of  the  Ashley  to  his  affec 
tions. 

But  Tom  appears  —  the  cook  par  excellence  —  and  we  look 
to-him  for  explanation.  There  is  no  falling  off  of  flesh  in  the 
case  of  Tom,  or  his  master;  and  there  is  an  unctuous  —  shall 
we  call  it  greasy  —  appearance,  about  the  mouth  and  cheeks 
of  the  negro,  that  will  not  permit  us  to  think  that  he,  at  least, 
has  suffered  any  recent  diminution  of  his  creature  comforts. 
Now,  we  can  not  suppose  that,  where  Tom  can  find  fuel  for 
himself,  his  master  will  be  permitted  to  sit  without  a  fire.  If 
Tom  can  procure  hoe-cake  and  bacon  for  his  own  feeding,  it 
is  very  sure  that  Porgy  will  not  go  without  his  supper.  His 
cause  of  trouble  lies  in  some  other  quarter  than  the  stomach, 
But  Tom  is  about  to  clear  his  voice  for  speech,  as  his  master 
looks  up,  inquiringly,  at  his  approach. 

"  He's  berry  bad,  maussa  !" 

"Worse?" 

"  He's  berry  bad,  sah." 

"  Worse,  I  say  ?" 


TliK     MALK-BllKEl)    IS     WINDKD.  155 

"Hah!   who  kin  say  but  he  'se'f?     De  hcis  b&r.   de  mss 
Tiictions  dis  time,  I  ebber  see  !" 
-  Will  he  die,  Tom  ?" 

"Ef  he  no  git  better,  maussa,  I  'spec'  de  buzzard  nab  uno 
chance  for  put  up  meat  to-night." 

"  You  are  yourself  a  buzzard,  ycu  r?,scal ;  to  speak  in  thh' 
way  of  the  condition  of  the  be?.c'; >: 

"  Ki !  maussa,  whey's  de  lia'rn  1  [hy,:m]  Hoss  hab  for  dead 
jis  like  white  man  and  ni'^er,  Yc"  :1°  bulT  lloss>  like  you 
bury  man,  and  do  buzzard  hat  for  git  'em!" 

""Tom,  when  you  die,  there  shall  be  no  weight  of  earth  put 
upon  you.  You  shall  be  laid  out  bare,  just  where  the  horse  is 
laid —  should  you  suffer  him  to  die  !  and  I  shall  have  a  trum 
peter  to  sound  a  notice  to  all  the  buzzards,  for  fifty  miles  round, 
to  attend  your  funeral." 

"Come,  come,  maussa;  'twunt  do  for  talk  sicli  ting!  Tom 
nebber  for  bury  when  he  dead  1  None  but  buzzard  for  ax  to 
he  fun'rel?  and  jis  'kaise  you  hoss  gwine  for  dead,  and  no 
body  for  help  'em  !  wha'  Tom  kin  do  ?  He  a'n't  boss-doctor. 
'Speck,  maussa,  you  better  try  Doctor  Oakenburg.  'Speck  he 
hab  someting  to  gee  de  hoss.  He  can't  cure  de  man,  when  he 
sick  ;  may-be,  he  kin  cure  de  hoss  !  Better  ax  'em,  maussa." 
"What!  are  you  such  an  enemy  of  the  poor  beast,  Tom, 
that  you  want  to  subject  him  to  new  miseries  1  What  pleasure 
can.  you  find  in  seeing  such  a  beast  as  Oakenburg  torturing 
such  a  beast  as  Nabob  1  and  you  have  fed  and  groomed  Nabob 
for  five  years  !  Have  you  no  affection  for  an  animal  that  you 
have  been  intimate  with  for  so  long  a  time  1  You  have  ridden 
him  a  thousand  times.  He  has  borne  you  as  tenderly  as  youi 
own  mother.  Have  you  no  gratitude,  you  rascal,  that  you 
wish  to  thrust  one  of  Oakenburg's  decoctions  into  his  stomach  V 
"  Oh  !  go  'long  maussa  ;  you  too  foolish  !  How  I  want  for 
gee  de  hoss  misery  ?  I  wants  for  care  'em  !  Da's  it !  I  'speck 
de  physic,  wha'  de  doctor  mek',  will  mek'  de  hoss  well  — 

"  What !  though  it  kills  the  man  !  Tom,  I  sometimes  think 
you  are  half  a  fool  at  best.  No,  Tom ;  Nabob  must  get  well 
without  help  from  Oakenburg,  or  he's  a  dead  beast.  His  Ltom- 
ach  has  always  been  a  good  one  till  now.  It  shall  never  be 


156  MKLLICHAMPE. 

deliled  Ly  any  ?f  Oakenburg's  decoctions.  But  you,  Tom,  as 
a  cook,  and  a  good  cook,  ought  to  know  what's  good  even  for 
the  stomach  of  a  horse.  Medicine,  itself,  is  only  the  proper 
sort  ox  {bed  for  a  morbid  condition.  Is  there  nothing  now  that 
you  can  think  of,  Tom,  that  the  poor  beast  can  make  out  to 
eat.  Think,  old  fellow  ;  think." 

^  1  see  dem  gib  hoss-droiicli,  msk'  wid  whiskey,  and  soot, 
and  salt;  but  whay  you  £u.  uo  git  salt  here  for  hoss,  and  you 
n;>  hab  none  for  sodger?' 

"Where,  indeed  I  The  prospect  is  a  sad  one  enough:  — 
a.id  you  say,  Tom,  that  all  the  salt  is  gone  that  came  up  last 
week  from  Georgetown  ?" 

"  Kbbry  scrap  ob  'cm,  inaussa —  no  hab  'nough  to  throw  on 
bird  tail  ef  you  want  to  catch  'em.  Dis  a  bad  country,  Mass 
Porgy  —  no  like  de  old  cypress,  whay  you  can  lap  up  'nough 
salt  from  de  swamp  to  cure  you  meat  for  de  year  round,  and 
season  you  hom'ny  by  looking  at  'em  only  tree  minutes  by  the 
sun." 

"And  you  know  nothing,  Tom,  that  will  ease  the  animal?" 

"No,  maussa,  I  see  de  buckrah  gib  drench  heap  time,  but  I 
aebber  cix  how  he  been  mek." 

"  Has  Humphries  come  in  yet,  Tom  f 

"  Long  time,  sir  :  he  gone  ober  to  Wolf  island  wid  de  major 
bout  two  hours  'go,  and  muss  be  coming  back  directly;  and, 
jist  I  speak,  look  at  'em,  coming  yonder,  by  de  big  gum  !" 

"  I  see  !  I  see !  I  must  consult  Humphries.  You  may  go 
now,  Tom,  and  see  after  your  own  dinner.  I  feel  hungry, 
myself,  in  anticipation  of  a  march  that  I  feel  that  we  shall  be 
called  upon  to  make  hurriedly.  Yet  IIOAV  to  march  if  Nabob 
dies,  it  is  difficult  to  conceive.  Tom,  unless  you  have  some 
peculiar  delicacy,  you  need  prepare  no  dinner  for  me.  That 
beast's  misery  won't  suffer  me  to  eat.  Go  and  see  to  him, 
Tom,  and  report  to  me  how  he  gets  on  now." 

Tom  disappeared,  and  our  fat  friend  rose  from  his  sitting 
posture  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  no  longer  any  uses  in 
the  world.  lie  was  sufficiently  sad  to  be  thought  melancholy, 
and  half  suspected  it  himself. 

41  D— n  the  poor  beast,"  he  muttered  as  he  went;  "  I  O&w't 


THE   HALF-BREED    IS    WINDED.  157 

bear  to  look  at  him.  I  can't  bear  to  look  at  the  sufferings 
I  can't  help.  If  by  a  fierce  wrestle  now,  a  hand-tc-^and  iight 
with  an  enemy,  or  even  a  match-race  on  fcofc  w*.*h  an  Indian 
runner,  I  could  do  the  creature  a  service,  I  could  go  to  wor& 
cheerfully.  Any  physical  or  mental  axertion  now  —  no  mat 
ter  of  what  sort  —  that  would  do  him  good,  I  would  undertake 
with  a  sort  of  satisfaction.  But  only  to  look  on,  and  do  noth 
ing,  sickens  me ;  it  may  be  because  I  raised  the  rascally  beast 
myself!" 

Thus  muttering  to  himself  as  he  went,  our  epicurean  move-d 
slowly  along  by  the  several  groups,  taking  the  route  toward 
Humphries,  who  was  seen  approaching  on  the  edge  of  the  island. 
The  philosopher  was  too  sad  to  enjoy  the  sports  of  others  at 
this  moment.  But  his  boon  companions,  who  knew  his  usual 
humors,  and  seldom  witnessed  his  exceptional  turns,  were  not 
disposed  to  permit  his  unnoticed  progress.  A  dozen  voices 
challenged  his  attention  from  all  sides,  all  anxious  to  secure 
the  company  of  a  good  companion. 

"I  say,  Lieutenant  —  Lieutenant  Porgy.     This  way." 

"And  this  way,"  cried  another  and  another. 

In  all  tncse  cries,  Porgy  fancied  there  was  something  of  an 
official  tone,  and  he  answered  one  for  all. 

"  How  now,  you  unfeeling  brutes?  What  are  you  howling 
about,  at  such  a  rate  1  Have  you  no  sensibility?  Must  the 
dying  agonies  of  the  poor  beast  be  disturbed  by  such  horrible 
sounds  as  issue  from  such  monstrous  throats?  or  do  you  sup 
pose  me  deaf?  Say  Avhat  you  want.  From  whom  come  you? 
Speak  out,  and  do  not.  think  me  so  dcnf  as  indifferent.  I 
would  not  hearken,  but  that  you  compel  me  to  hear,  and  will 
hardly  heed  unless  you  speak  in  more  subdued  accents.  You 
will  crack  the  drum  of  my  ear  by  such  howlings  !" 

"Ho!  ho!  ho!— Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  What  a  damnable  chorus  !"  muttered  the  philosopher.  "  Ar.3 
this  disrespect  is  the  fruit  of  my  good  nature.  Familiarity 
breeds  contempt.  He  who  sleeps  with  a  puppy  is  sure  of  fleas. 
Now,  all  because  of  my  taking  these  rascals  into  my  me=:-  ".nd 
treating  them  like  gentlemen,  do  they  presume  to  howl,  and 
shout,  and  yell  in  my  ears,  as  if  they  were  so  many  bed  fell  ^wcl 


MELLICHAMPE. 


Well,  Mr.  Masoi  :,  wha*  is  it  you  would  say?     Speak  out  and 
kave  done  with  it.     A  short  horse  is  soon  curried." 

Dick  M.'as:u  Bowled  sulkily  at  the  reflection  upon  Ins 
-dwarfish  size.  He  was  the  monster  in  little  of  the  camp,  be 
ing  but  four  feet  eight. 

"Why,  lieutenant,"  said  he,  "you're  mighty  cross  to-day." 
"  Cross  ! — And  w^'.i  1  maybe,  since  here's  Nabob,  my  nag, 
as  fine  an  animal  as  man  would  wish  to  cross,  racked  with  all 
the  spasms  of  an   infernal  colic !     Tell  me  what  I  can  do  for 
H'w.y   if  not,  hold   your   peace,  and  go   to   the  devil  without 
bothering  me  with  your  sense  of  what  is  due  to  your  master." 
"Your  horse!  —  what,  Nabob?"  with  interest. 
"  Yes  !  my  horse  !  Nabob  !"  pertinently. 

Give  him  red  pepper  tea  !"  said  one. 
1  Sojt  and  salt !"  cried  another. 
"  Gunpowder  and  rum  !"  a  third. 
:'  Turpentine  and  castor  oil !"  a  fourth. 

"  A  feed  of  pine  burrs  is  the  very  best  remedy,  lieutenant," 
said  a  fifth. 

Other  suggestions  followed,  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest,  until 
the  angry  lieutenant,  seizing  one  of  the  party  by  the  hair  of 
his  head  with  one  hand,  and  snatching  up  a  cudgel  with  the 
other,  was  preparing  to  make  a  signal  example  of  the  one  of 
fender,  for  the  benefit  of  the  now  dispersing  group,  when  Hum 
phries  seized  him  from  behind,  and  drew,  for  a  brief  moment, 
the  fury  of  the  epicure  upon  himself. 

"Who  dares?"  he  demanded,  wheeling  about 
"  Why,    you're    as   full   of  fight    as    a    spring   teriapn;    of 
eggs." 

"The  comparison  saves  you  a  cudgeling,  Bill  Humphries, 
though  you  half  deserve  it  for  saving  these  rascals.     They've 
been  jeering  me,  the  heartless  blackguards,  about  the  condi 
tion  of  my  horse,  who's  dying  of  colic!" 
"  Colic  !  —  do  you  say  ?     Is  he  bad  off." 
"  He's  no  horse  if  lie  isn't.     Bad  ns  he  can  be  !     So  bad,  that 
ev3n  Torn  prescribes  Oakenburcr**1 

O 

"  Or.r.".-iiburg  will  kill  him,  if  lie  undertakes  the  cure.  But 
ihere  s  a  ^a:i!.v,  jockey  hero,  that's  famous  as  a  horse  doctor. 


THE    FIALF-BRKKI)    T3    WINDED.  159 

Ba  ho  !  Hero,!  Tom  Jennings,"  calling  to  a  lauksided  sand 
lapper,  "be  off  quickly,  and  hunt  up  Zekc  Turpin,  and  send 
him  here.  Tell  him  that  Lieutenant  Porgy 's  horse  has  coli . 
from  eating-  his  master's  dinner  by  mistake." 

"Ah  !  villain,  you  take  advantage  of  my  grief/'  said  Por^y. 
with  an  effort  to  smile. 

"  He'll  cure  it  if  anybody  can  !  So  give  yourself  no  con 
cern.  Only,  you  must  put  yourself  in  readiness  Tis  soon  as 
possible.  That's  the  order  now." 

"  What's  to  he  done,  Humphries?*' 

"  Work  !     Fight's  the  word  !" 

"  Fight !     With  whom  now  1" 

"  The  tories !" 

"  The  tories  !     Whereabouts  do  they  gather?" 

"  At  Sinkler's  meadow,  where  there's  to  be  a  mighty  gathei- 
ing.  They  are  promised  arms  and  ammunition  from  the  city 
We  are  to  have  warm  work,  they  tell  us,  for  "here's  to  be  a 
smart  chance  of  the  rascals  together;  but  devil  take  the  odds. 
The  job  will  pay  for  itself,  Porgy,  since  they're  to  have  a  bar 
becue  and  plenty  of  rum." 

"Ah,  ha!  That's  encouraging  as  a  pros}  oct,  Mumphries  , 
and  now  the. question  is,  whether  we  shall  let  'Jiem  feed  be 
fore  we  fight  them,  or  fight  them  before  they  feed." 

"I  don't  see  why  that  should  be  a  question.  We've  got  to 
fight  them  as  soon  as  we  can  get  a  chance  at  them,  and 
whether  before  or  after  the  barbecue  don't  matter  very  much.'" 

"An  opinion  that  argues  great  simplicity  on  the  part  of 
Lieutenant  Humphries,"  was  the  reply  of  Porgy.  "The  dif 
ference  is  vastly  material  to  our  interest,".,  and  ought  to  govern 
our  policy.  If  we  let  them  feed  before  we  fight  them,  we  shall 
finl  them  easier  customers,  since  every  third  man  will  be 
biirely  urunk,  and  no  second  man  sober." 

"Well,  there's  something  in  that,  certainly,"  said  Hum 
phries. 

"  Ay,  true  ;  but  look  at  the  other  side.  If  we  fight  them 
before  we  suffer  them  to  feed,  wo  shall  have  the  greater  spoil 
since  barbecued  beef  and  Jamaica,  which  have  been  already 
consumed  by  a  hundred  or  two  starving  tories,  is  so  much 


160 


MKLLICHAMFK. 


dear  loss  to  our  commissariat.  I^ow,  Bill,  I'm  for  the  tougher 
iob  of  the  two  —  the  harder  fighting  and  the  greater  saving. 
The  wretches!  only  to  think  that  they  aie  to  have  a  barbe 
cue,  while  we  arc  compelled  to  eat — Torn,  what  are  we  com 
pelled  to  eat  ?  —  what  have  you  got  for  dinner,  to-day,  old  fel 

Tom  reappeared  in  season  to  answer. 

"  Wha'  for  dinner !  Huh  !  Hab  some  tripe,  sah,  and  h  m;- 
ny,  and  bile  acorns." 

"  Tripe,  hommony,  and  boiled  acorns  !  And  they  to  have  a 
barbecue  !  Roast  beef — a  whole  ox  —  stall-fed,  no  doubt !  — 
and  a  puncheon  of  Jamaica !  Ah !  Humphries,  it  is  a  prob 
lem  which  none  of  us  can  solve.  There  seems  to  be  soi.ic- 
thing  unreasonable  in  this  partial  distribution  of  the  gifts  of 
Providence,  ilbs  a  cory  a  better  stomach  than  a  patriot?  Is 
his  taste  more  iifined  and  intellectual?  Does  he  need  mors 
fuel  for  his  furnr.co  f  Are  his  nervous  energies  more  exhaust 
ing  !  Are  his  virl-os  higher  ?  Has  he  the  right  of  the  politi 
cal  argument?  .in  other  words,  ought  we  to  prefer  George  the 
Third  to  the  Continental  Congress,  for  that  is  the  question 
that  naturary  occurs  to  us  when  we  find  the  tories  better  sup 
plied  with  the  creature  comforts  than  ourselves." 

"Well,  Porgy,  that's  certainly  a  new  view  of  the  case." 

"  Truly  ;  but  I  see  how  it's  to  be  answered,  without  a  sacri 
fice  of  principle.  The  rascals  have  the  good  things,  Bill;  but 
shall  they  be  allowed  to  keep  'em  ?  That's  the  question.  On 
the  contrary,  they  are  but  so  many  agents  of  Providence,  in 
gathering  and  getting  ready  the  feast  for  us.  We  shall  spoil 
the  Egyptians,  Bill;  we  shall  be  able  to  come  upon  them  — 
.-.hall  we  not?  —  before  they  shall  have  touched  the  meat.  I 
like  vastly  to  take  a  first  cut  at  a  barbecue.  The  nice  gravy 
is  then  delicious.  After  a  dozen  slashes  have  been  made  in  it, 
it,  imbibes  a  smoky  flavor  which  I  do  not  relish.  We  must 
come  upon  them,  Bill,  when  everything's  ready,  but  before 
they  have  made  the  first  cut." 

"  Right !  but  I'm  afraid  you'll  not  bo  in  time  for  the  cut,  liea 
teimnt,"  said  Humphries  gravely. 

"  And  why  not,  pray  T' 


THE   HALF-BREED    IS    WINDED.  1C1 

"T<rc:  horse!" 

"  Ah,  that  I  should  have  forgotten  the  poor  beast,  thinking 
of  the  barbecue.  Tom,  how's  Nabob  now  ?" 

Torn  shook  his  head  deplorably. 

"  Ah !  well,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  lose  him.  I  must 
leave  him  with  your  Santee  jockey,  Bill,  and  see  what  he  can 
do  for  him.  But  to  that  barbecue  I'll  go  !  Flat !  I'll  bor 
row  the  nag  of  that  old  German  that's  sick  —  old " 

"Feutbaer!  Well,  he'll  carry  you  safe  enough;  it  will  be 
for  the  tories  to  say  if  he  will  bring  you  back.  Bui  what's 
this?— ha!" 

Humphries  started  as  the  two  approached  the  litt'iw  hollcw 
in  which  Torn  carried  on  his  preparations  for  the  humbio  meal 
of  the  squad  for  which  he  provided.  The  trooper  celaed  a 
rifle  that  stood  against  a  tree  beside  him,  and  lifted  it  instan 
taneously  to  his  eye.  The  muzzle  of  it  rested  upon  trs 
strange  dog  that  burrowed  amid  the  offal  strewn  about  tha 
place,  unnoticed  by  the  busy  cook  who  purveyed  for  him 
Porgy  was  about  to  declare  his  wonderment  at  the  sudden 
ferocity  of  mood  exhibited  by  his  companion,  when,  motioning 
him  to  be  silent,  the  trooper  lowered  the  weapon,  and  called 
to  John  Davis,  who  was  approaching  at  a  little  distance. 

"Davis,"  said  he,  as  the  other  came  near,  "do  you  ki.ow 
that  dog  r 

"I  think  I  do;  but  where  I've  seen  him  I  can't  say.  I'm 
sure  I  know  him." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?''  exclaimed  Humphries,  somewhat  impa 
tiently,  "  that  you  should  any  of  you  fail  to  remember  the 
brute  ?  What  do  you  say,  Tom  ?  Don't  you  know  the  dog?" 

This  was  addressed  to  the  negro  in  tones  that  startled  him. 

•  He  face  is  berry  familiar  to  me,  Massa  Bill,"  returned  Tom 
after  a  pause,  in  which  he  seemed  to  study  the  matter  with 
grave  severity  ;  "he  face  is  berry  familiar  to  me,  'cept  he  aVt 
bin  wash  'em  much.  But  I  loss  de  recollection  ob  de  name 
for  ebber. ' 

"  But  why  the  devil,"  quoth  Porgy,  "  should  that  dirty- 
looking  beast  so  much  interest  you  ?  Positively,  you  are  all 
in  a  stew  and  sweat." 


163  MELLICHAMPE. 

"  And  well  I  iney  be  ic  all's  true  that  I  suspect.  I'm  a 
marked  in  a'  !" 

"  A  marked  man  !  yc^'re  dreaming  !     What  do  you  mean  V 

"  I  can  not  be  mistaken,  Porgy.  That  is  the  cur  of  Mother 
Blbna^  —  Goggle's  mother — and  the  blear-eyed  rascal  must 
be,  eve.ii  now,  in  this  very  neighborhood." 

"  Do  yon  think  so,  Bill?"  demanded  Davis. 

"  Thir.V  EC  1  I  know  it,  if  I  know  the  dog.  If  that  be  the 
same  brute,  Blonay's  here  —  at  hand  — in  this  very  swamp  ; 
and  we  a:e  hunted  !  /  am  hunted  !  The  rascal's  on  my  trail. 
He  seeks  my  life." 

Thic  v/as  a  serious  suggestion,  the  importance  of  which  was 
instanVy  felt  by  all  the  group.  If  such  a  scout  as  Blonay 
,verc  .*&<  lly  on  the  trail  of  Humphries,  there  was  not  a  moment 
in  w*..ieh  his  life  was  secure.  There  was  no  path  which  he 
•ovld  pursue  in  safety  ;  every  bush  might  give  forth  the 
oullet,  every  tree-top,  or  hollow,  or  gulley,  or  bay,  or  swamp- 
border,  send  forth  its  sudden  messenger  of  death.  The  assas 
sin  in  the  scout,  and  on  trail,  presents  to  the  imagination  of 
the  woodman  as  complete  an  idea  of  danger  and  terror  as  it 
belongs  to  the  human  mind  to  conceive.  But  Humphries, 
IviDUfh  rendered  very  serious  by  his  conjectures,  was  not  ap 
plied,  or  deprived  by  his  apprehensions  of  the  first  attributes 
of  manhood  —  thought  and  decision. 

"  We  are  hunted,"  he  continued,  after  closely  scrutinizing 
the  dog,  "  I  am  now  sure  of  it.  Goggle's  in  this  very  place, 
and  the  bead  of  his  rifle,  no  doubt  ranging,  some  hundred  yards 
off,  upon  some  one  of  this  party.  But  don't  look  up  or 
around,"  said  he  quickly,  seeing  that  his  companions  Avere 
about  to  let  their  eyes  and  gestures  betray  their  curiosity. 
"  Do  not  look,  or  start,  or  seem  curious.  If  he  be  here,  as  I 
believe,  we  must  not  suffer  him  to  suppose  that  his  presence  is 
suspected.  We  must  play  a  scout-game  with  the  rascal;  while 
we  are  all  here  together,  he  will  scarcely  trouble  one  of  us. 
He  will  watch  his  opportunity  to  find  me  alone,  for  I  am  sure 
that  I  am  the  one  he  seeks." 

"  But,"  said  Porgy,  "  even  if  this  be  the  rascal's  dog,  and 
it  has  a  sufficiently  rascally  look  to  be  so,  why  should  that 


THE    HALF-BREED    IS    WINDED.  163 

prove   the    master    to    be    present  ?      The   brute   may   have 

strayed." 

"  No  !  such  a  creature  never  strays.  He  can't  do  without 
his  master.  He  is  a  part  of  him.  But  let  us  see,  now,  if  the 
animal  can  be  made  to  seek  his  master.  "Tom!" — to  the 
negro. 

Tom  had  been  listening  curiously.  He  answered  promptly. 
The  dog  meanwhile,  with  his  nose  about  the  fires,  had  been 
picking  up  bones  and  scraps — the  remnants  of  the  feast. 

"  Tom,  hit  the  dog  a  smart  stroke  suddenly  with  your  stick  — 
a  blow  not  to  hurt  him  much,  but  to  scare  him,  and  make  him 
run.  Do  you,  Davis,  move  to  the  edge  of  the  creek,  and  watch 
him  well  as  he  runs.  If  he  lacks  a  master,  he  will  dodge 
about  the  island.  If  he  has  left  him  anywhere  about,  he  will 
make  off  in  that  direction.  Then  we  shall  see  what  route  to 
take,  and,  with  half-a-dozen  of  us  on  his  track,  we  may  make 
out  to  cross  his  path,  and  cut  him  off  from  escape.  Keep  your 
eyes  about  you,  Davis." 

Davis  proceeded  in  one  direction,  Two  other  persons  were 
despatched  quietly  to  place  themselves  in  watch  upon  other 
parts  of  the  island  overlooking  the  swamp.  Humphries  him 
self  prepared  to  dash  forward  in  a  third  direction,  equidistant 
from  these.  Tom,  in  the  meanwhile,  with  a  stick  concealed 
behind  him,  was  sidling  forward  to  a  nearer  acquaintance  with 
the  ck)g,  who,  unsuspicious  of  the  designs  upon  him  and  greedy 
for  food,  was  still  busy,  with  nose  prying  into  pots,  pans,  and 
kettles.  All  the  parties  were  prepared,  and  Humphries  gave 
a  sign  to  Tom  to  proceed,  as  soon  as  possible,  to  his  part  of  the 
performance.  The  negro  watched  his  opportunity,  and,  soon 
after,  with  right  good  will,  he  laid  the  flail  over  the  back  of  the 
obtrusive  animal.  At  the  smart  and  unexpected  salutation, 
the  dog,  with  a  yell,  darted  back  howling  into  the  swamp  ; 
taking,  as  Humphries  had  calculated,  the  very  route  over  which 
he  came,  and  toward  the  spot  where  he  had  left  his  master. 
Humphries,  and  the  .companions  whom  he  had  selected,  at 
once  dashed  off  in  pursuit. 

But  Blonay  was  not  to  be  caught  napping.  He  had  one 
chief  merit  of  a  scout  —  indeed,  it  was  his  only  merit  —  he 


1G4:  MKLLICHAMPE. 

never  trusted  himself  within  smell  and  sound  of  an  enemy's 
camp,  without  keeping  his  wits  well  about  him.  He  had 
marked  well  the  party  on  the  island ;  had  seen  the  movement 
of  Humphries  toward  the  dog  ;  beheld  his  rifle  uplifted,  and 
pointed  for  a  moment  at  the  head  of  the  animal;  arid  readily 
divined  the  motives  which  induced  his  enemy  to  forbear  shoot 
ing  him,  and  which  finally  led  to  the  movement  which  had  been 
subsequently  conceived  and  acted  upon.  The  great  secret  in 
stratagem  is  to  give  your  enemy  credit  for  an  ingenuity  and 
enterprise  which  are  at  least  equal  to  your  own.  Blonay  had 
readily  conceived  the  plan  which  he  himself  would  pursue  in 
a  situation  such  as  that  of  Humphries.  He  acted  accordingly, 
felt  his  own  danger,  and  at  once  proceeded  to  a  change  of 
ground. 

Leaving  the  advanced  position  from  which  he  had  watched 
Ihe  camp,  and  running  in  a  straight  line  about  fifty  yards  above, 
he  then  turned  suddenly  about  and  kept  a  forward  course  in 
the  direction  of  the  spot  at  which  he  had  first  entered  the 
swamp.  But  he  did  not  take  these  precautions  without  some 
doubts  of  their  adequacy  to  his  concealment.  He  muttered, 
to  himseif,  his  apprehensions  of  the  keen  scent  of  the  dog, 
whirh  lie  feared  would  too  quickly  find  out  his  track,  and  lead 
his  pursuers  upon  it;  and,  though  he  doubted  not  that  he 
should  be  able  to  get  out  of  the  swamp  before  any  of  those 
after  him,  he  was  yet  fully  aware  of  the  utter  impossibility  of 
escaping  them  on  the  high  road,  should  any  of  them  mount  in 
pursuit. 

Though  a  hardy  and  fast  animal,  his  pony  was  quite  too 
small  to  overcome  space  very  rapidly;  and  the  determination 
of  Blonay  was  soon  made,  if  he  could  mislead  the  dog,  to  seek 
a  hiding-place  in  the  swamp,  which,  from  its  great  extent  and 
impervious  density  in  many  places,  he  knew  would  conceal 
him,  for  a  time,  from  any  force  which  the  partisans  might  send, 
lie  hurried  on,  therefore,  taking  the  water  at  every  oppor 
tunity,  and  leaving  as  infrequent  a  track  as  possible  behind 
him.  But  he  fled  in  vain  from  the  sagacious  and  true  scent  of 
his  dog.  From  place  to  place,  true  in  every  change,  the  cur 
kept  on  after  him,  giving  forth,  as  he  fled,  an  occasional  yelp 


THE   HALF-BKEED   IS    WINDED.  165 

o*  dissatisfaction  or  chagrin,  as  much  probably  on  account  of 
tha  beating  he  had  received  as  from  not  finding  his  master. 

"  Adrat  the  pup  —  there's  no  losing  him.  Now,  if  I  had  my 
b.and  on  him,  I  should  knife  him,  and  that's  the  only  way. 
jile'll  bring  'em  on  me,  at  last,  ef  I  don't." 

The  half-breed  thus  muttered,  as  the  bark  of  the  dog  on  the 
new  trail  which  he  had  made,  attested  the  success  with  which 
ha  pursued  him.  Blonay  rose  upon  a  stump,  and  distinctly 
beheld  the  head  of  Humphries,  rising  above  a  fallen  log ;  the 
proprietor  of  it,  led  and  excited  by  the  cries  of  the  dog,  pres 
sing  forward  with  surprising  energy,  though  still  at  a  con 
siderable  distance  behind.  Blonay  murmured  to  himself,  as 
he  watched  his  enemy  : — 

•"I  can  hit  him  now  —  it's  not  two  hundred  yards,  and  I've 
'ii.lv  a  smaller  mark  than  that  so  fur,  before  now." 

_lnd,  as  he  spoke,  he  lifted  his  rifle,  cocked  it,  and  raised  it 
to  his  eye,  where  it  rested  for  a  few  seconds;  but  Humphries 
was  now  covered  by  a  tree.  The  dog  came  on,  and  Blonay 
distinguished  the  voices  of  the  pursuers,  and  that  of  Humphries 
in  particular,  urging  the  chase  with  words  of  encouragement. 
Unseen  himself,  he  now  took  a  certain  aim  at  the  head  of  the 
lieutenant ;  another  moment  and  he  must  have  fired  ;  but,  just 
then,  he  beheld  the  figure  of  Davis  pressing  through  the  brush, 
at  a  point  higher  up  than  the  rest,  and  seemingly  bent  on 
making  a  circuit,  which  would  enable  him  to  get  between  their 
present  position  and  the  fugitive's  only  outlet. 

To  merely  kill  his  victim,  and  to  run  the  risk  cf  perishing 
himself,  was  not  the  desire  of  the  half-breed.  His  Indian 
blood  took  its  vengeance  on  safer  terms.  He  slowly  uncocked 
the  rifle,  let  it  fall  from  his  shoulder,  and  once  more  set  off  in 
flight,  taking  now  a  course  parallel  with  that  which  l*e  beheld 
John  Davis  pursuing.  His  object  was  to  reach  the  same  point; 
and  he  could  only  do  so,  in  good  time  to  escape,  by  keeping 
the  direct  route  upon  which  he  now  found  himself. 

At  this  moment  his  dog  came  up  with  him.  He  Avas  about 
to  plunge  into  a  puddle  of  mixed  mire  and  water.  The  faith 
ful  animal,  unconscious  of  the  danger  in  which  he  had  involved 
his  master,  uow  leaped  fondly  upon  him;  testifying  his  joy  at 


166  MKLLICIIAMPE. 

finding  him  by  wantonly  yelping  at  the  highsal  pitch  of  L!a 
voice,  and  assailing  him  with  the  most  uiK.cu'Ji  caresses,  which 
added  to  his  annoyance  by  impeding  his  flight.  His  clamors 
also  guided  the  pursuers  upon  the  true  path  of  the  fugitive, 
and  would  continue  to  guide  them.  The  moment  was  full  of 
peril,  and  everything  depended  upon  his  decision.  The  savage 
and  ready  mood  of  the  half-breed  did  not  long  delay  in  £. 
moment  of  such  necessity.  Muttering  to  himsolf,  in  few  words, 
bis  chagrin,  he  grasped  the  dog  firmly  by  the  back  of  his  neelr, 
and,  as  the  skin  was  tightly  drawn  upon  tho  throat,  with  & 
quick  movement  of  his  hand  he  passed  the  keen  blade  of  h.ra 
knife  but  once  over  it,  and  thrust  the  body  from  him  in  the 
ooze. 

With  a  single  cry  and  a  brief  struggle,  the  animal  la;y  de^ 
in  the  pr.tli  of  the  pursuers.  Hurriedly  sending  the  knife  bac- 
into  its  sheath,  the  savage  resumed  the  rifle  which,  while  he 
slew  the  dog,  he  had  leaned  against  a  cypress  ;  and,  seemingly 
without  compunction,  he  a^ain  set  forward. 

His  flight  was  now  far  less  desperate,  since  his  pursuers  had 
no  longer  the  keen  faculties  of  the  dog  to  scent  for  them  the 
path,  and  his  clamorous  yelp  to  guide  them  upon  it ;  and,  with 
a  more  perfect  steadiness,  Blonay  pushed  onward  until  he 
gained  a  small,  though  impenetrable  cane-brake.  This  he 
soor.  rounded,  and  it  now  lay  between  him  and  his  enemies 
Taking  to  the  water  whenever  it  came  in  his  way,  he  left  but 
few  traces  of  his  route  behind  him ;  and  to  find  these,  at  inter 
vals,  n<  cessarily  impeded  the  pursuers.  When,  at  length,  they 
reached  the  pond  in  which  he  had  slain  his  dog,  and  beheld 
the  body  of  their  guide  before  them,  they  saw  that  the  pursuit 
was  almost  hopeless. 

"  Look?  here !"  exclaimed  Humphries  to  the  rest,  as  they 
ever  ally  came  up  to  the  spot.  "  Look  here  !  the  skunk,  you 
.<ce,  has  been  mighty  hard  pushed,  and  can't  be  far  off;  but 
tl.ere's  no  great  chance  of  finding  him  now.  It's  like  hunting 
ai-cr  a  needle  in  a  haystack.  So  long  as  we  had  the  dog  there 
w.-j  something  to  go  by,  for  the  beast  would  find  his  master 
tf.  Jllgli  thick  and  thin,  and  we  should  have  got  up  with  him 
so  <)  time  or  other.  Goggle  knew  that:  and  he's  done  the 


THE    HAJ  w-^KKKU    IS    V  INDED.  167 

only  thing  that  could  have  saved  him  He's  a  scout  among  a 
thousand  —  that  same  Goggle;  and  no  money,  if  we  had  it, 
ought  to  be  stinted  to  get  him  on  oui  nde.  But  he  knows  the 
difference  between  guineas  and  cou* mental  paper;  and,  so 
long  as  Proctor  pays  him  .well  with  tha  one,  he'd  be  a  mighty 
tool,  being  what  he  is,  to  bother  himself  about  the  other." 

At  that  moment  the  shrill  sounds  of  the  trumpet  came  to 
them  from  the  camp,  and  put  an  end  to  the  pursuit,  as  it  com 
manded  their  presence  for  other  duties. 

"There's  the  trumpet,  boys;  we  must  put  back.  We  can't 
stop  to  bother  any  longer  with  a  single  man ;  and  so  little 
chance,  too,  of  our  catching  him.  We've  got  ether  work.  The 
general,  you  must  know,  is  getting  ready  for  a  nrusii  with  the 
tories ;  and  we  have  permission  to  lick  them  well  to-morrow 
at  Sinkler's  Meadow.  If  we  do  we  shall  a!i  get  rich;  foi 
Barsfield,  they  say,  is  to  meet  them  there  with  a  grand  supply 
of  shoes  and  blankets,  muskets  and  swords,  tind  a  tnousand 
other  matters  besides,  which  they've  got  and  we  want.  We 
must  get  back  at  once;  and  yet,  boys,  it  goes  against  me  to 
leave  this  scoundrel  in  the  SAY  am  p." 

But  there  they  were  compelled  to  leave  J  m  in  perfect 
security.  The  half-breed  reached  his  pony,  wLi  i  ne  mounted 
at  once  and  proceeded  on  his  return.  He  had  I  :•  reason  to  be 
dissatisfied  with  events.  He  had  tracked  his  uierny,  though 
his  .vengeance  was  still  unsatisfied  ;  he  had  louno.  out  the 
secret  pass  to  the  rebel  camp,  and  he  estimited  mgnly  the 
value  of  the  discovery. 


MKLLIUHAMPE. 


CHAPTER    XIA. 

THE    GAME    AFOOT. 

THE  stirring  tones  of  the  trumpet,  a  long  and  lively  peal, 
resounded  through  the  swamp.  Its  summons  was  never  un 
heeded  by  the  men  of  Marion.  They  gathered  on  all  hands, 
and  from  every  quarter  of  its  comprehensive  recesses.  From 
the  hammock  where  they  slept,  from  the  lakelet  where  they 
fished,  from  the  green  where  they  leaped  the  frog,  hurled  the 
bar,  or  wrestled  in  emulous  sport,  in  all  the  buoyancy  of  full 
life  and  conscious  strength.  They  were  soon  thick  around  the 
person  of  the  partisan,  and  nothing  for  some  time  could  be 
heard  but  the  busy  hum,  the  mingling  voices  of  the  crowd,  in 
all  the  confusion  of  that  sort  of  preparation  and  bustle  which 
usually  precedes  the  long  march  and  anticipated  conflict. 

But  the  quick,  sharp,  yet  IOAV  tones  of  the  "  swamp-fox" 
soon  reduced  to  silence  the  commotion,  and  brought  to  sym 
metry  and  order  all  that  was  confusion  before.  His  words 
were  powerful,  as  they  were  uttered  in  a  voice  of  unquestion 
able  command,  and  with  that  unhesitating  decision  which,  as 
it  comrjfcls  respect  from  the  foe,  is  always  sure  to  secure  con 
fidence  in  the  follower.  Strange  that,  in  domestic  life,  and  in 
moments  of  irresponsible  and  unexciting  calm,  usually  dis 
tinguished  by  a  halting  and  ungraceful  hesitation  of  manner, 
which  materially  took  from  the  dignity  of  his  deportment,  it 
was  far  otherwise  when  he  came  to  command  and  in  the  hour 
of  collision.  He  possessed  a  wonderful  elasticity  of  character, 
which  was  never  so  apparent  as  when  in  the  time  of  danger. 
At  such  periods  there  wras  a  lively  piny  of  expression  in  his 
countenance,  denoting  a  cool  and  fearless  spirit.  His  manner 
now  was  marked  by  this  elasticity  ;  and,  instead  of  anticipated 


THE    GAME   AFOOT.  169 

battle,  one  might  have  imagined  that  he  was  about  to  promise 
to  his  men  the  relaxation  and  the  delights  of  a  festival.  But 
the  sagacious  among  them  knew  better.  They  had  seen 
him  drinking  vinegar  and  water  —  his  favorite  beverage  —  in 
greater  quantities  than  usual ;  and  they  knew,  from  old  ex 
perience,  that  a  rapid  march  and  a  fierce  struggle  were  at 
band. 

'•Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Marion,  seeing  his  officers  and 
favorite  men  all  around  him,  "  if  you  are  as  tired  of  the  swamp 
as  I  am,  you  will  rejoice  at  the  news  I  bring  you.  We  are 
now  to  leave  it." 

"  Whither  now,  general  ?"  asked  Horry. 

"Ah,  that  indeed  is  the  question.  We  must  leave  it  first. 
That,  gentlemen,  is  the  requisition  of  our  old  friend  Captain 
Barsfield,  of  his  majesty's  loyalists,  who  is  n,ow  mustering  in 
force  around  us.  He  has  instructions  to  set  dog  upon  dog,  and 
hunt  us  out  with  our  hounds  of  neighbors  —  the  tories.  It  is 
for  you  to  say  whether  we  shall  stand  and  wait  their  coming, 
or  give  them  the  trouble  of  hunting  the  empty  swamp  after  us 
I  am  for  leaving  them  the  ground,  and  looking  out  for  other 
quarters  and  a  better  business." 

Cries  of  "No,  no  —  let  us  meet  them — let  us  not  fly  from 
any  tory  !"  were  heard  on  all  hands;  and  Horry,  Singleton, 
and  sundry  others  of  the  most  favored  officers,  seriously  inter 
posed  with  suggestions  of  their  strength,  and  the  ability  and 
willingness  of  the  men  to  fight.  The  partisan  smiled  pleas 
antly  as  he  listened  to  their  suggestions." 

"  You  mistake  me  somewhat,  gentlemen,"  was  his  quiet  arid 
general  reply  ;  "  you  mistake  me  much  ;  and  I  rejoice  that  you 
do  so,  as  I  am  now  so  much  the  better  satisfied  that  your  views 
and  feelings  accord  with  my  own.  To  leave  the  swamp  does 
not  mean  to  fly  from  the  enemy.  Oh,  no  !  I  propose,  on  the 
contrary,  that  we  should  leave  the  swamp  in  order  to  seek  the 
enemy  before  he  shall  be  altogether  ready  for  us.  Why  should 
we  wait  until  he  has  brought  his  men  together]  —  why  wait 
until  the  tories  from  Waccainaw  come  in  to  swell  the  number 
of  our  own  rascals  from  Williamsburg  1  —  and  why,  of  all  things, 
wait  until  Captain  Barsfield  brings  his  baggage-wagons  with 


supplies  to  glut  these  gre.Vy  wretches  who  expect  them  1  I 
see  no  reason  for  this." 

"No,  no,  general,"  wais  'he  response;  "we  are  ready  for 
them  —  we  need  not  wait." 

"Very  well,  gentlemen,  as  you  say  —  we  need  not  wait; 
and,  supposing  that  such  would  be  your  determination,  I  have 
wlready  completed  my  arrangements  for  departure.  We  shall 
move  off  with  midnight ;  and  it  is  expected,  gentlemen,  that 
you  so  speed  in  your  duties  as  to  suffer  no  delay  after  that 
period  in  your  departure.  Colonel  Horry  will  have  his  squad 
in  readiness  to  move  with  me  upon  Sinkler's  meadow,  where  we 
must  take  post  before  the  tories.  •  The  route  and  general  o?- 
ders  he  will  find  in  this  paper.  Singleton — " 

The  chief  led  the  young  officer  aside. 

"  Singleton,  I  have  special  work  for  you,  which  calls  for  all 
your  activity.  Take  your  whole  corps  of  riflemen,  and  select 
your  horses.  Leave  to  Captain  Melton  all  those  of  your  men 
who  are  most  cumbrous  or  may  least  be  relied  upon.  The  duty 
is  too  important  to  be  intrusted  to  clumsy  fingers." 

Singleton  bowed,  and  Marion  continued : — 

"  Proceed  up  the  river  road  to  Brooks'  mills,  and  secure  the 
detachment  which  Watson  has  placed  there.  Let  none  of  them 
escape,  if  you  can,  to  carry  news  across  the  river.  Let  your 
return  be  by  daylight,  and  then  take  the  road  toward  Berke 
ley's  place,  where  Barsiield  has  found  lodgings.  He  will  move 
to-morrow,  with  the  sun,  on  tho  route  to  Sinkler's  meadow.  He 
must  be  met  and  beaten  at  all  hazards.  I  will  despatch  Cap 
tain  Melton  with  thirty  men  for  this  purpose ;  and,  in  order  to 
make  certain,  as  soon  as  you  have  surprised  the  guard  at 
Brooks',  you  will  push  down  toward  Berkeley's,  Kaddipah,  or 
iii  whatever  quarter  Barsfield  may  go.  Melton  probably  will 
do  the  business;  but,  as  it  will  be  in  your  subsequent  route, 
you  may  as  well  prepare  to  co-operate  with  him,  should  you 
be  in  season.  We  must  keep  Barsfield  from  joining  these  to 
ries,  upon  whom  1  shall  most  probably  fall  by  mid-day.  You 
may  find  this  a  somewhat  difficult  matter,  as  Barsfield  fights 
well,  and  is  something  of  a  soldier.  You  must  surprise  him  if 
you  can.  This  done,  you  will  proceed  to  scour  the  upper  road 


THE    GAME    AFOOT.  171 

with  as  much  rapidity  as  comports  with  caution.  The  scouts 
bring  me  word  of  a  corps  in  that  quarter,  which  can  be  no  other 
than  Tarleton's.  This  scrawl,  too,  comes  from  that  dear  old 
granny,  Mother  Dyson,  who  lives  near  Monk's  Corner.  Heir 
what  the  good  old  creature  says : — 

"  '  DARE  GIN'RAL  :  There's  a  power  of  red-coats  jist  guine 
down  by  the  back  lane  into  your  parts,  and  they  do  tell  that 
it's  arter  you  they're  guine.  They're  dressed  mighty  fine,  and 
has  a  heap  of  guns  and  horses,  and  as  much  .provisions  as  the 
wagons  can  tote.  I  makes  bold  to  tell  you  this,  gin'ral,  that 
you  may  smite  them,  hip  and  thigh,  even  as  the  Israelites 
smote  the  bloody  Philistians  in  the  blessed  book.  And  so,  no 
more,  dare  gin'ral,  from  your  sarvant  to  command, 

"  *  BETSY  DYSON. 

"  *N.  B.  —  Don't  you  pay  the  barer,  gin'ral,  for  he's  owing 
me  a  power  of  money,  and  he's  agreed  with  me  that  what  I 
gives  him  for  guine  down  to  you  is  to  come  out  of  what  lie 
owes  me.  He's  a  good  man  enough,  and  is  no  tory,  but  he 
a'n't  quite  given  to  speaking  the  truth  always;  and  I'm  sorry 
to  tell  you,  gin'ral,  that,  in  spite  of  all  I  says  to  him,  he  don't 
mend  a  bit.  "  '  B.  D.' 

"  Quite  a  characteristic  epistle,  Singleton,  and  from  as  true 
a  patriot  as  ever  lived  —  that  same  old  Betsy  Dyson.  These 
troops  must  be  Tarleton's,  and  I  doubt  not  that  he  moves  with 
the  entire  legion.  He  has  pledged  himself  to  Cornwallis  to 
force  me  to  a  fight,  and  he  comes  to  redeem  his  pledge.  This 
we  must  avoid,  and  we  must  therefore  hurry  to  put  these  tories 
out  of  the  way  before  they  can  co-operate  with  the  legion.  I 
will  see  to  them.  When  you  have  done  with  Barsfield,  should 
Melton  not  have  struck  before  you  reach  him,  you  will  take 
t!i?  upper  track  until  you  find  Tarleton.  But  you  are  to  risk 
nothing:  we  can  not  hope  to  light  him,  even  with  our  whole 
present  force,  and  you  must  risk  nothing  with  your  little  squad. 
You  must  only  hang  about  him,  secure  intelligence  of  all  his 
movements,  and,  where  opportunities  occur,  obstruct  his  steps, 
and  cut  off  such  of  his  detachmenta  as  come  within  your  reach 


172  MKJ.LICUAMPE. 

You  can  worry  the  advance,  and  throw  them  back  upon  the 
foot,  for  their  horses  will  not  hold  a  leg  with  the  meanest  of 
your  troop.  We  want  time,  and  this  will  give  it  to  us :  and 
none  of  these  risks  should  be  taken  unless  you  encounter  the 
legion  before  sunset  to-morrow.  After  that,  you  are  simply  to 
watch  and  report  their  movements.  Should  I  succeed  in  the 
attack  at  Sinkler's  to-morrow,  you  will  find  me  at  the  ferry  at 
midnight.  Should  you  not,  take  it  as  a  proof  of  my  failure, 
and  look  for  me  at  Snow's  island." 

A  few  other  minor  suggestions  completed  Singleton's  com 
mission  ;  and  Marion  proceeded,  in  like  manner,  to  detail  to 
every  officer,  intrusted  with  command,  the  duties  which  were 
before  him.  With  Colonel  Horry's  squad,  he  took  to  himself 
the  task  of  routing  the  tories  at  Sinkler's  meadow.  Twenty 
men,  under  Captain  James,  he  despatched  to  waylay  the  road 
leading  from  Waccamaw,  over  which  another  small  body  of 
tories  was  expected  to  pass ;  and,  this  done,  the  rest  of  the 
day  was  devoted  by  all  parties  to  preparations  for  the  move 
ment  of  the  night. 

Promptness  was  one  of  the  first  principles  in  Marion's  war 
fare.  With  the  approach  of  evening,  the  several  corps  pre 
pared  for  their  departure.  Saddles  were  taken  from  the  trees, 
on  whose  branches  they  had  hung  suspended  all  around  the 
camp ;  steeds  were  brought  forward  from  the  little  recesses 
where  they  browsed  upon  the  luxuriant  cane-tops ;  swords 
waved  in  the  declining  sunset;  bugles  sounded  from  each  se 
lected  station,  where  it  had  been  the  habit  for  the  several 
squads  to  congregate  ;  and,  as  the  sun  went  really  down  behind 
the  thick  forest,  the  camp  was  soon  clear  of  all  the  active  life 
which  it  possessed  before.  All  who  were  able  were  away  on 
their  several  duties ;  and  but  a  few,  the  invalids  and  supernu 
meraries  alone,  remained  to  take  charge  of  themselves  and  the 
furniture  of  the  encampment. 

Our  fat  friend,  Lieutenant  Porgy,  had  a  narrow  chance  of 
being  left.  Were  we  to  consider  his  bulk  simply,  he  might 
have  been  classed  with  those  Avhom  Marion  spoke  of  as  quite 
too  "  cumbrous"  for  movement.  But  his  energy  and  impulse 
were  more  than  a  match  for  his  bulk.  Still,  the  best  will  and 


THE   GAME    AFOOT.  173 

blood  are  not  proof  against  the  decrees  of  fate ;  and  while  Marion 
was  yet  giving  his  orders,  Tom  reported  to  liis  master  the  death 
of  the  horse  Nabob.  The  epicure  was  for  a  moment  overcome. 
He  proceeded,  however,  with  commendable  promptness,  to 
what  was  styled,  par  courtesie,  the  hospital,  where  Fentbaer, 
the  German,  lay  sick.  From  him  he  proposed  to  borrow  his 
hor.se.  But,  even  while  negotiating  with  the  sick  man,  Tom 
entered  with  great  outcry  and  much  rejoicing,  conducting  a 
sergeant,  who  brought  with  him  a  fine  horse,  and  a  message 
from  Singleton,  begging  Porgy  to  use  him  until  a  better  steed 
could  be  captured  from  the  enemy.  The  animal  brought  him 
was  a  noble  bay,  one  of  a  pair,  and  Porgy  was  not  the  man  to 
underrate  a  generosity  so  unusual  as  well  as  handsome.  Of 
course,  he  accepted  the  gift,  and  was  lavish  of  thanks.  But 
he  said  to  Humphries,  with  a  sigh :  "  A  handsome  present, 
Bill ;  our  major  is  the  man  to  do  handsome  things.  This  is  a 
very  fine  animal,  an  !  just  suits  me  —  perhaps  even  better  than 
Nabob ;  but  Nabob  was  a  sort  of  half-brother  to  me,  Bill.  I 
raised  the  ridiculous  beast  myself." 

Humphries  thought  the  use  of  the  word  "ridiculous"  rather 
an  abuse  of  language,  but  it  was  employed  for  a  purpose  — 
was  in  fact  designed  to  conceal  a  sentiment.  When,  half  an 
hour  after,  Porgy  beheld  Tom  stretching  the  skin  of  poor  Na 
bob  in  the  sun,  he  felt  like  cudgelling  the  negro,  whom  lie 
called  *an  inhuman  beast. 

"  Why,"  he  asked,  furiously,  "  why  did  you  skin  the  animal, 
you  savage  ?" 

"  Oh  !  maussa,  kaise  I  lub  'em  so  !  Nabob  and  me  guine  to 
sleep  togedder  a'ter  this,  for  ebber  and  for  ebbermore." 

Tom  was  even  more  "  an  old  soldier"  than  his  master.  Por 
gy  growled  — 

"  Some  day  that  will  be  the  scoundrel's  apology  for  skinning 
me!" 

But  we  are  not  permitted  to  linger  over  the  mere  humors  of 
our  partisans.  Let  us  leave  them  for  a  space,  and  look  after 
the  half-breed  Blonay.  Relieved  from  the  hot  pursuit  which 
had  been  urged  after  him,  he  relaxed  in  the  rapidity  of  his 
movements,  and  made  his  way  with  more  composure  out  of  the 


174 


MELLICHAMPE. 


swamp.  He  had  not  slain  his  enemy,  it  is  true ;  but  he  had 
been  quite  as  successful  in  discovering  the  place  of  his  retreat 
as  his  most  sanguine  hopes  had  predicted.  He  had  not  merely 
seen  his  particular  foe,  and  found  out  his  hiding-place,  but  he 
had  discovered  the  passage  to  one  of  those  secret  haunts  of  the 
"  swamp-fox,"  the  knowledge  of  which,  he  doubted  not,  would 
bring  him  a  handsome  reward  from  the  British  officers,  to  whom 
Marion  was  becoming,  daily,  more  and  more  an  object  of  hos 
tile  consideration.  Satisfied,  therefore,  with  the  result  of  his 
expedition,  though  lamenting  the  unavoidable  sacrifice  which 
he  had  made  of  his  dog  —  his  last  friend,  his  only  companion  — 
he  at  once  took  his  way  back  to  "  Piney  Grove,"  where  he 
hoped  to  meet  with  Barsfield.  It  was  not  long  before  he  stood 
before  the  tory,  who  led  him  away  at  once  into  the  woods, 
anxious,  from  his  intense  hate  to  Mellichampe,  to  learn  how 
far  the  half-breed  had  been  successful  in  his  search. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  done  ?  what  have  you  seen  ?  Have 
you  found  the  trail,  Lion  ay  ?  Have  you  discovered  the  hiding- 
place  of  this  reptile  —  these  reptiles  ?" 

"  Well,  cappin,  there's  no  saying  for  certain,  when  you're 
upon  the  trail  of  a  good  woodman.  He's  everywhere,  and 
then  agin  he's  nowhere.  Sometimes  he's  in  one  place,  some 
times  in  another;  and  sometimes  it  a'n't  three  minutes'  differ 
ence  that  he  don't  have  a  change.  Now  the  'swamp -fox'  is 
famous  for  drawing  stakes,  and  going  there's  no  telling  where." 

"  True,  true,  I  know  all  that.  But  it's  for  a  good  scout  to 
find  him  out,  and  track  him  through  all  his  changes.  Now, 
what  have  you  done  in  your  search  ?  You  have  seen  your 
enemy,  have  you  not  ?  Where  have  you  left  him  ?  and,  above 
all,  have  you  seen  that  boy  —  he  whom,  of  all  others,  I  would 
have  you  see  ?  What  of  Mellichampe  1" 

"  I  seed  him,  cappin,  but  mighty  far  off — I  know'd  him  from 
what  you  tell'd  me  —  I  can't  be  mistaken." 

"Well!" 

"  But,  cappin,  there's  a  mighty  heap  of  men  with  Marion- 
more  than  a  hundred." 

"  Impossible  !   you  dream  !"  responded  the  tory  in  astonish 
naent. 


THE    GAME    AFOOT.  175 

"  It's  a  gospel  truth,  sir,  and  tlicy  looked  quite  sprigli ;  ana 
the  trumpet  blowed,  and  there  was  a  great  gathering.  They 
had  a  fine  chance  of  horses,  too  —  some  of  the  finest  I  ever 
laid  eyes  on." 

"  Ha,  indeed  !  This  will  be  work  for  Tarleton,  who  must 
now  be  at  hand.  From  Monk's  Corner  to  Smoot's,  thirty 
miles  —  then  here  — he  should  be  here  to-morrow  noon,  and  1 
must  hurry  with  the  dawn  for  Sinkler's  —  yes  —  it  must  be  at 
daylight" 

The  tory  thus  muttered  to  himself,  and  the  half-breed  duly 
treasured  up  ever)  syllable.  The  speaker  proceeded  again, 
addressing  his  companion  — 

"Tiswell  —  you  have  managed  handsomely,  Blonay ;  but 
you  have  not  yet  said  where  the  gathering  took  place.  Tell 
rne  the  route  you  took,  and  give  me  a  full  description  of  the 
spot  itself,  and  all  particulars  of  your  adventure." 

But  the  half-breed,  though  exhorted  thus,  was  in  no  hasto 
to  yield  any  particulars  to  Barsfield.  The  casual  reference  to 
Tarleton's  approach,  which  had  fallen  from  the  tory's  lips  in 
his  brief  soliloquy,  had  determined  Blonay  to  keep  his  secret 
for  one  who  would  most  probably  pay  him  better ;  and,  though 
he  replied  to,  he  certainly  cUrl  net  slower,  the  question  of  his 
present  employer. 

"  Well,  sow,  cappin>  there'*?  m-  telling  how  to  find  the  place 
I  went  to.  There's  so  many  crooks  and  turns  —  so  many  ins 
and  ouii1,"  —so  many  ups  and  downs,  that  it's  all  useless  to  talk 
about  it.  It's  only  nose  and  eye  that  can  track  it  out  for  you  ; 
for,  besides  that  I  don't  know  the  names  of  any  places  in  these 
parts,  I  cou.ld  only  find  it  myself  by  putting  my  foot  along  the 
track,  and  taking  hold  of  the  bushes  which  I  broke  mysell 
I  could  tell  you  that  you  must  take  the  road  back  to  the  left, 
then  strike  across  the  old  field  to  the  right,  then  you  come  to 
a  little  bay,  and  you  go  round  that  till  you  fall  into  a  little 
path,  that  leads  you  into  the  thick  wood  ;  then  you  keep  a  lit 
tle  to  the  left  agin,  and  you  go  on  in  this  way  a  full  quarter 
before  you  come  out  into  a  valley ;  then  —  " 

"Enough,  enough  —  such  a  direction  would  baffle  the  best 
•cout  along  the  Santee.  We  must  even  trust  to  your  own  eyes 


176  MELLICHAMPE. 

«in(l  feet  when  the  time  comes  to  hunt  these  reptiles,  and  I 
trust  that  your  memory  will  not  fail  you  then." 

4<  Never  fear,  cappin,"  responded  the  other,  agreeably  satis 
fied  to  be  let  off  so  easily  from  a  more  precise  description  of 
the  route  which  he  had  taken.  It  is  probable  that,  with  a 
greater  force  than  that  which  he  commanded,  and  which  was 
entirely  inadequate  to  any  such  enterprise,  Barsfield,  solicitous 
of  distinction,  and  seeking  after  his  foe,  would  have  compelled 
the  guidance  of  Blonay,  and  gone  himself  after  the  "swamp- 
fox."  As  matters  stood,  however,  he  determined  to  pursue  his 
old  bent,  and,  seeking  his  tories  at  Sinkler's  meadow,  leave  to 
die  fierce  Tarleton  the  honor  of  hunting  out  the  wily  Marion. 


SHARP    PASSAGES    AT   ARMS.  IT? 


CHAPTER   XX. 

SHARP    PASSAGES    AT    ARMS. 

BARSFIELD  retired  to  liis  slumbers  that  night  with  pleas*-,, 
anticipations.  Blonay  again  sought  the  woods,  and  sleeple^Siy 
sought,  by  the  douhiful  moonlight,  his  way  into  the  fame 
swamp  recesses  which  he  had  traversed  through  the  day.  His 
leading  passion  was  revenge,  and  he  spared  no  pains  co  se 
cure  it.  He  could  sleep  standing  against  a  tree;  kiid  he 
seemed  not  even  to  need  repose  at  all.  He  was  gone  all 
night,  yet  appeared  at  the  mansion  of  Mr.  Berkeley  ready  for 
his  breakfast,  and  seemingly  as  if  he  had  never  felt  fatigue. 

The  two  ^laidens  the  next  morning  stood  conversing  in  the 
piazza.  Barsfielcl,  with  his  corps,  baggage-wagons  and  all, 
had  just  departed.  Blonay,  too,  had  set  off,  but  in  a  different 
direction.  Piney  Grove  was  once  more  left  to  its  old,  sweet, 
quiet ;  and  a  painful  restraint  and  a  heavy  weight  seemed 
taken  from  the  heart  of  Janet  Berkeley  with  the  absence  of 
her  father's  guests. 

"  Well,  Janet,"  exclaimed  the  livelier  Rose  Duncan,  as  they 
looked  down  the  long  avenue,  and  surveyed  itw  quiet,  "  I  am 
heartily  glad  our  military  visitors  are  gone.  I  am  sick  of  big 
swords,  big  whiskers,  and  big  feathers,  the  more  particularly 
indeed,  as,  with  many  of  this  sort  of  gentry,  khese  endowments 
seem  amply  sufficient  to  atone  for  and  redeuiD  the  most  outra 
geous  stupidity,  mixed  with  much  more  monstrous  self-esteem 
There  was  not  one  of  these  creatures,  now,  that  could  fairly 
persuade  a  body,  even  in  the  most  trying  country  emergency, 
to  remember  she  had  a  heart  at  all.  All  was  stuff  and  stiff 
ness,  buttons  and  buckram  ;  and  when  the  creatures  did  maks 


1 78  MELLTCIIAMPE. 

a  move,  it  was  a  sort  of  wire  and  screw  exhibition — a  dread 
ful  operation  in  mechanics,  as  if  a  clumsy  inventor,  armed 
with  thumbs  rather  than  fingers,  and  mortally  apprehensive 
that  his  work  would  go  to  pieces  before  he  could  get  it  safely 
out  of  his  hands,  had  wheeled  it  out,  and  was  wheeling  it  in, 
soured  and  sullen  from  a  consciousness  that,  in  so  wheeling  it, 
the  rickety  thing  had  not  shown  to  advantage.  And  these  are 
soldiers  !  Well,  Heave'n  save  us,  I  pray,  as  much  from  their 
love  as  from  their  anger.  The  latter  might  bayonet  one,  it  is 
true ;  but  I  should  as  surely  die  of  the  annoyance  and  ennui 
that  would  inevitably  come  with  the  other.  Look  up,  my  dear 
cousin,  and  tell  me  what  you  think." 

It  was  thus  that  the  lively  Rose  Duncan  discoursed  of  the 
tory  troop  to  her  cousin.  Janet  replied  quietly — a  pleasant 
but  subdued  smile  touching  her  lips,  softly  and  sweet,  as  a 
faint  blush  of  sunlight  resting  upon  some  drooping  flower  by 
the  wayside. 

"  And  yet,  my  dear  Rose,  you  have  no  reason  to  complain ; 
you  certainly  made  a  conquest  of  the  young  lieutenant,  Mr. 
Clayton.  His  eyes  spoke  eloquently  enough  ;  and  his  mouth, 
whenever  it  was  opened,  was  full  of  the  prettiest  compliments. 
You  must  not  be  ungrateful." 

"  Nor  am  I.  I  do  not  complain  of,  nor  yet  will  I  appropriate, 
(he  'goods  the  gods  provide  me.'  I  take  leave  to  congratulate 
myself  on  their  leaves- taking  —  all  —  not  to  omit  my  simper 
ing,  sweet,  slender  Adonis,  the  gentle  lieutenant  himself. 
Pshaw,  Janet,  how  can  you  suppose  that  I  should  endure  such 
a  whipt-syllabub  sort  of  creature  ?  You  must  have  pitied  me, 
hearing,  with  no  hope  of  escape,  his  rhapsodies  about  music 
and  poetry  —  moonlight  and  bandana  handkerchiefs  ;  for  he 
mixed  matters  up  in  such  inextricable  confusion,  that  I  could 
have  laughed  in  his  face,  but  that  it  required  some  effort  to 
overcome  the  stupid  languor  with  which  he  possessed  me. 
You  needn't  smile,  Janet — he  did  —  he  was  a  most  delicate 
bore." 

"  And  you  really  desire  me  to  believe,  Rose,  that  he  has 
made  no  interest  in  your  heart?"  was  the  response  of  Janet  to 
all  this  tirade.  The  graver  maiden  of  the  two  seemed  dis- 


PASSAGES    AT    ARMS.  179 

posed  to  adopt  some  of  the  light  humor  of  her  companion,  and 
annoy  her  after  her  own  fashion. 

"Interest !  heart !  —  liow  can  you  talk  such  stuff,  Janet,  and 
look  so  serious  all  the  while?  You  should  be  pelted  with 
pine-burs,  and  I  will  undertake  your  punishment  before  the 
day  is  well  over.  By-the-way,  talking  of  pine-burs,  I  am 
reminded,  though  I  don't  see  why,  of  the  strange  blear-eyed 
countryman.  What  a  curious  creature,  with  that  stiff,  straight 
black  hair  —  so  glossy  black — and  those  eyes  that  seem  pop 
ping  from  his  head,  and  look  of  all  colors;  and  then  the  rigid, 
yet  loose  fixture  of  his  limbs,  that  seem  like  those  of  a  statue, 
drawn  asunder,  and  left  hanging  by  the  merest  ligatures. 
What  a  queer  creature!" 

"  He  seems  poor  and  humble,"  replied  Janet,  "  and  is 
probably  affected  mentally.  He  seems  idiotic." 

"  Not  he  —  not  he  !  His  gaze  is  too  concentrative  and  too 
fixed,  to  indicate  a  wandering  intellect  :  then,  why  his  fre- 
fyuent  conversations  with  that  bull-necked  lover  of  yours,  Bars- 
field  ?  Did  he  not  take  him  into  the  woods  when  the  country 
man  came  back  yesterday  evening,  and  keep  him  there  a  full 
hour?  I  tell  you  what,  Janet,  that  fellow's  a  spy  ;  he's  after 
no  good  here  :  and,  as  I  live,  here  he  is,  coming  back  full 
tilt  upon  his  crooked  pony,  that's  just  as  queer  and  up-ly  as 
himself." 

As  she  said,  Blonay  reappeared  at  this  moment,  and  the 
dialogue  ceased  accordingly  between  the  maidens.  The  half- 
breed  grinned  with  an  effort  at  pleasantness  as  he  bowed  to 
them,  and,  speaking  a  few  words  to  Mr.  Berkeley,  as  if  iu 
explanation  of  his  return,  he  proceeded  to  loiter  about  the 
grounds.  The  eyes  of  Rose  watched  him  narrowly,  and  with 
no  favorable  import ;  but  Blonay  did  not  seem  to  heed  her 
observation.  He  now  sauntered  in  the  park,  and  now  ho 
leaned  against  a  tree  in  the  pleasant  sunshine;  and,  by  his 
torpid  habit  of  body,  seemed  to  justify  Janet  to  her  more  lively 
cousin  in  the  opinion  which  she  had  uttered  of  his  idiocy. 
But  the  scout  was  never  more  actively  employed  than  jusf 
when  he  seemed  most  sluggish.  He  was  planning  the  sale  of 
Marion's  camp  to  Tarleton.  He  was  loitering  about  Pinej 


180  MKLLICriAMPE. 

Grove,  with  the  double  object  of  being  nigh  his  enemy's  hiding- 
place  and  of  meeting  with  the  legionary. 

"  He  is  a  spy,  Janet.  He  has  been  put  here  as  a  watch 
over  us  and  upon  Mellichampc.  Barsficld  knows  Mellichampe 
to  be  rash,  as  he  has  shown  himself,  and  he  has  put  that 
fellow  here  to  look  out  for  and  shoot  him." 

Janet  shuddered,  and  her  eyes  involuntarily  turned  to  the 
spot  where,  at  a  little  distance,  the  half-breed  otood  leaning 
igainst  a  tree.  How  imploring  was  the  expression  of  her 
f*ye  !  Could  he  have  seen  it,  if  such  were  his  purpose,  he  must 
have  relented.  Such  was  the  thought  of  Rose  —  such  the 
hope  of  Janet.  The  scout  had  seen  that  look  —  he  had  felt 
its  expression. 

"  But  where  is  he  now,  Janet  ?"  was  the  question  of  Rose  a 
few  moments  after.  He  was  gone,  and  so  stealthily,  they  had 
not  suspected  his  movement.  The  half-breed  was  again  upon 
the  track  of  his  enemy. 

Barsfield,  meanwhile,  though  dispensing  with  the  attendance 
of  Blonay,  did  not  fail  to  avail  himself,  in  one  respect,  of  the 
information  which  the  latter  had  given  him.  The  proximity 
of  Marion  in  the  swamp,  with  a  hundred  men  or  more,  aroused 
the  tory  to  increased  exertion,  and  counselled  the  utmost  pru 
dence  in  his  march,  as  it  showed  the  neighborhood  of  so  supe 
rior  an  enemy.  The  arms,  baggage,  clothing,  and  ammuni 
tion,  intended  to  supply  a  large  body  of  tories,  and  which  were 
intrusted  to  his  charge,  were  of  far  more  importance  to  his 
present  purposes  than  of  real  intrinsic  value.  Not  to  deliver 
them  safely  into  the  hands  of  those  who  were  to  employ  them, 
and  whom  he  was  to  employ,  would  be  to  suffer  dreadfully  in 
(he  estimation  of  his  British  superiors,  and  in  his  own  personal 
interests.  To  have  them  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  rebels, 
were  to  accumulate  evil  upon  evil,  as  no  acquisition  which  the 
latter  could  make  at  this  period  could  be  of  greater  importance 
It  was  well  for  him  that  these  suggestions  filled  the  mind  of 
the  tory.  He  was  a  tolerable  soldier  en  a  small  scale,  and 
was  already  well  conversant  with  the  partisan  warfare.  He 
sent  forward  a  few  trusty  horsemen  to  reconnoitre  and  keep 
the  advance;  and,  moving  cautiously  and  with  watchful  eyes- 


SHAKP    1'ASSAGKB    AT    A.KMS.  181 

he  h  jped  to  make  his  way  without  interruption.  But  ne  was 
not  fated  to  do  so,  as  we  shall  see  anon. 

Major  Singleton,  having  a  more  extended  line  of  country  to 
traverse,  and  a  greater  variety  of  duties  to  perform,  started 
from  the  swamp  at  dusk,  and  some  time  hefore  the  rest.  Mar 
ion  set  forth  by  midnight;  and  Captain  Melton,  after  attend 
ing  to  some  matters  of  minor  importance,  led  off  his  little  corps 
an  hour  later.  Our  attention  will  chiefly  he  given  to  this  lat 
ter  hand,  of  which  Ernest  Mcllichainpc  was  the  first-lieutenant, 
and  Jack  Witherspoon  the  orderly.  By  the  dawn  they  found 
themselves  at  one  of  the  lower  crossing-places  upon  the  river, 
probably  that  at  which  it  would  be  the  aim  of  Barsfield  to 
cross ;  but,  as  this  was  uncertain,  it  was  not  the  policy  of  Mel 
ton  to  await  him  there.  The  position  was  by  no  means  good, 
and  the  ground  too  much  broken  for  the  free  use  of  cavalry. 

With  the  dawn,  therefore,  Melton  moved  his  troop  slowly 
up  the  road,  intending  to  place  them  in  ambush  behind  a  thick 
wood  which  lay  in  their  route,  and  which  had  been  already 
designated  for  this  purpose.  The  road  ran  circuitously  through 
this  wood,  forming  a  defile,  around  which  a  proper  disposition 
of  his  force  must  have  been  successful,  and  must  have  resulted 
in  the  destruction  or  capture  of  the  entire  force  of  the  tories. 
The  spot  was  well  known  to  the  partisans,  and  had  been  de 
termined  upon,  even  before  the  party  left  the  river,  as  Avell 
adapted,  beyond  any  other  along  the  road,  for  the  contempla 
ted  encounter.  It  lay  but  seven  miles  off,  and  one  hour's  quick 
riding  would  have  enabled  them  to  reach  and  secure  it.  But 
Melton  pursued  a  regular,  or  rather  a  cautious  gait,  which, 
under  oilier  circumstances,  and  at  another  time,  would  have 
been  proper  enough.  But  now,  when  the  object  was  the  at 
tainment  of  a  particular  station,  a  forced  movement  became 
essential,' in  most  part,  to  their  success;  certainly  to  that  plan 
of  surprise  which  they  had  in  view.  Mellichampe  more  than 
once  suggested  this  to  his  superior  officer;  but  the  latter  waa 
one  of  those  persons  who  have  solemn  and  inveterate  habits, 
from  which  they  never  depart.  His  horse  had  but  one  gait, 
and  to  that  he  was  accustomed.  His  rider  had  but  a  single 
tune,  and  tliat»was  a  dead  march.  The  consequences  of  thesa 


1 32 

peculiarities  was  a  funeral  movement  on  the  present  occasion, 
and  no  argument  of  Mellicliampe  could  induce  Melton  to  urge 
the  advance  more  briskly.  lie  cursed  the  monotonous  drone 
m  his  heart;  and,  biting  his  lips  until  the  blood  started  from 
them,  he  predicted  to  himself  that  the  party  would  be  too 
late. 

And  so  indeed  it  happened.  Barsfield,  whom  the  intelli 
gence  brought  by  Blonay  had  prompted  to  renewed  speed  in 
his  movements,  had  set  forth,  as  we  have  seen,  by  the  dawn 
of  day,  and  was  upon  the  road  quite  as  soon  as  Melton,  who 
had  been  travelling  half  the  night.  Had  the  counsel  of  Melli- 
champe  been  taken,  the  desired  position  would  have  been 
gained  easily  by  the  partisans;  for,  as  it  lay  a  little  nearer  to 
"  Piney  Grove"  than  to  the  swamps,  and  as  Barsfield,  though 
urging  his  course  forward  with  all  due  rapidity,  was  unavoid 
ably  compelled  to  move  slowly,  burdened  as  he  was  with  his 
baggage-wagons,  nothing  could  have  been  more  easy  than  to 
have  attained  it  with  a  proper  effort. 

But  Melton  was  not  the  man  to  make  an  effort  —  he  had  nc 
mind  for  an  occasion  ;  and  the  force  of  habit,  with  him,  was 
far  more  controlling  than  any  impulse  from  necessity.  Such 
a  man  is  no  genius.  He  stopped  his  troop  here  and  there,  to 
scour  this  or  that  suspicious-looking  growth  of  underwood  — 
sent  out  his  scouts  of  observation,  as  if  he  had  been  engaged 
in  the  vague  and  various  duties  of  the  forager,  instead  oi'  push 
ing  forward  with  the  single  object  —  the  performance  of  the  task 
which  he  had  in  hand.  The  consequence  of  this  blundering 
was  foreseen,  and  partially  foretold,  by  the  indignant  Melli- 
champe,  who  could  scarcely  restrain  his  anger  within  terms 
of  courtesy.  Bitterly  aroused,  he  was  ready  almost  for  revolt ; 
and,  but  for  the  presence  of  the  danger,  and  the  necessity  of 
turning  his  wrath  in  the  more  legitimate  direction  of  his  ene 
mies,  it  was  apparent  to  all,  that,  from  the  harsh  tones  and 
stern  looks  interchanged  by  the  two  officers,  an  outbreak  must 
soon  have  followed. 

But  the  thoughts  of  all  were  turned  to  other  objects,  as,  sud 
denly,  one  of  their  troopers  rode  up,  informing  Melton  of  the 
approach  of  Barsfield,  close  at  hand.  He  had  oiiJV  time  to  mar- 


SHAKP    i'ASSAGKt    A  j.    ARMS  183 

liit»  men  on  the  &ide  of  a  little  copse  and  bay  that  lay  be- 
t'.w.n  himself  and  the  foe,  when  the  heavy  tramp  of  the  cavalry 
.-.I: ,i  the  creaking  wheels  of  the  baggage-wagons  were  heard  at 
a  liule  distance.  A  timely  resolution,  even  then,  though  com 
jmratively  unprepared,  might  yet  have  retrieved  the  error 
u  hi  eh  the  commander  of  the  troop  had  committed;  but  his 
[••'»ks  were  now  indecisive,  his  movements  uncertain,  and  he 
gave  his  orders  for  a  change  of  position,  imagining  that  a  bet 
ter  stand  presented  itself  a  little  distance  back. 

"  This  must  not  be,  Captain  Melton  !"  cried  Mellichampe, 
indignantly.  "It  is  quite  too  late,  sir,  to  think  of  any  such 
change.  A  retrograde  movement  full  in  the  face  of  an  advan 
cing  enemy,  will  have  the  effect  of  a  retreat  upon  our  troop, 
and  give  the  enemy  all  the  advantage  of  our  panic  and  con 
fusion,  together  with  the  courage  and  confidence  which  our 
seeming  flight  must  inspire  in  them.  We  can  not  change  now, 
and  we  must  make  the  best  of  our  position.  Had  my  advice 
been  minded — " 

He  was  interrupted  as  the  close  sounds  of  the  advancing 
tories  met  his  ears.  Melton  saw  the  impossibility  of  any  change 
now,  and  the  discovery,  on  his  part,  produced  in  his  mind  all 
the,  feelings  of  surprise  and  discomfiture  which  he  had  planned 
for  the  reception  of  his  foe.  Ha  gave  his  orders,  it  is  true ; 
but  he  did  not  look  the  officer  to  his  men,  and  they  did  not 
feel  "with  him.  Not  so  witbi  Mellichampe:  the  few  words 
which  had  passed  in  the  hearing  of  the  troop  between  him  and 
his  commander  —  the  air  of  fit.r-jo  do. Vision  which  his  features 
wore — -the  conscious  superiority  win  ;h  they  indicated  —  were 
all  so  many  powerful  spells  - 1  vaior>  which  made  the  brave 
fellows  turn  their  eyes  upon  him  as  upon  their  true  leader. 

And  co  he  y/as.  The  imbecility  of  Melton  became  more 
conspicuous  as  the  moment  of  IrirJ  approached.  He  halted, 
hung  back,  as  the  enemy  entered  upon  the  little  defile  in 
which  only  it  could  be  attacked  ;  and  thus  exposed  his  men, 
when  the  attack  was  made,  to  all  the  disadvantages  arising 
from  a  suffered  surprise.  It  was  then  that  the  impatient  blood 
of  Mellichampe,  disdaining  all  the  restraints  of  discipline, 
him  forward  in  the  assault  with  a  fierce  shout  to  his 


184:  MELLICIIAMPE. 

men,  and  a  scornful  jeer  almost  in  the  ears  of  his  commander, 
as,  driving  his  good  steed  before  him,  he  advanced  to  the 
charge,  which  he  made  with  so  much  force  and  impetuosity  aa 
at  once  to  stagger  the  progress  of  the  tories. 

R-ivsfield  was,  just  then,  emerging  from  the  pass  —  a  little 
cornfield,  with  its  worm-fence  enclosing  lay  on  one  hand,  and. 
on  the  other,  the  woods  were  open  and  free  from  undergrowth 
It  was  here  that  Melton's  men  had  been  posted,  not  so  advan 
tageously  as  they  would  have  been  had  they  reached  the  spot 
which  Marion  had  designated  for  them ;  but  sufficiently  well 
to  have  rendered  the  attack  successful  under  a  spirited  charge 
such  as  that  made  by  Mellichampe.  But  the  information 
which  Barsfield  had  received  from  Blonay  had  made  him  ex 
tremely  cautious,  as  we  have  already  seen,  and  he  had  prop 
erly  prepared  himself  against,  and  was  on  the  look-out  for, 
assaults  like  the  present.  ^With  the  first  appearance  of  the 
enemy,  his  men  were  ordered  to  display  themselves  in  open 
order;  the  wagons  were  suffered  to  fall  behind,  and  were  car 
ried  back  under  the  escort  of  a  single  dragoon  to  the  spot 
from  which  they  had  started  in  the  morning.  To  this  effect 
the  instructions  of  Barsfield  had  been  already  given.  Free 
and  unencumbered,  the  tory  met  his  enemy  boldly,  and  re 
ceived  Lisi  with  a  discharge  cf  pistols.  The  steed  of  Melli 
champe  was  at  this  moment  careering  within  a  few  paces  of 
him.  The  sabre  of  the  youth  waving  above  his  head,  and, 
with  a  bitter  smile,  rising  in  his  stirrups,  he  cried  out,  as  he 
prepared  to  cross  weapons  with  bis  enemy  — 

"  Dog  of  a  tory,  we  have  a  clear  field  now !  There  are 
none  to  come  between  us.  Strike,  villain,  and  strike  well ; 
for,  by  my  father's  blood,  I  will  give  you  no  quarter  \r' 

Barsfield  calmly  seemed  to  await  bis  approach,  and  exhib 
ited  no  lack  of  courage:  jet  his  sabre  was  unlifted —  his  bri 
dle  lay  slackened  in  'his  hand  ;  and,  but  for  his  erect  posture 
and  firm  seat,  it  might  be  supposed  that  he  was  a  mere  looker- 
on  in  the  affray.  He  replied  to  the  furious  language  of  his 
youthful  opponent  in  tones  and  language  as  fierce. 

"  You  may  swear  by  your  own  blood  soon,  boy,  or  I  much 
mistake  your  chances." 


GHAKP    PASSAGES    AT    ARMS.  185 

The  sabre  of  the  youth  glared  in  his  face  at  this  reply,  and 
the  movement  of  the  tory  was  made  in  another  instant  with 
all-  the  rapidity  of  thought.  His  horse,  under  the  quick  im 
pulse  of  a  heavy  bit,  was  brought  round  in  a  moment :  in  an 
other,  a  huge  pistol  was  draAvn  from  his  holsters,  and  the 
careering  steed  of  Mellicharnpe  received  the  bullet  meant  for 
his  master  in  his  own  breast.  Ho  fell  forward  upon  his  knees, 
made  an  imperfect  effort  to  rise,  and  the  next  moment  plunged 
desperately  and  struggled  almost  under  the  feet  of  BarsfieUVs 
horse.  A  few  seconds  sufficed  for  Mellichampe's  extrication  ; 
and  he  was  barely  in  time  by  throwing  up  his  sabre,  to  arrest 
the  stroke  of  his  enemy's.  On  foot  he  now  pressed  forward 
upon  Barsfield,  and  sought  to  close  so  nearly  in  with  him  as 
to  make  it  difficult  for  him  to  employ  his  sabre,  unless  by 
shortening  it  too  greatly  to  permit  of  his  using  it  with  any  ad 
vantage.  But  the  tory  saw  his  design,  and  immediately 
backed  his  steed.  Mellichampe  pursued  him  with  his  accus 
tomed  rashness,  and  must  certainly  have  been  slain  by  the 
tory,  who  had  now  drawn  another  pistol  from  JJs  holster,  when 
Witherspoon,  who  had  been  hotly  engaged,  but  had  seen  with 
anxiety  the  contest  between  the  two  enemies,  now  rushed  be 
tween ;  and,  setting  the  huge  and  splendid  horse  which  he 
rode  directly  in  the  teeth  of  that  of  Barsfield,  the  shock  of 
their  meeting  threw  the  latter  completely  upon  his  haunches, 
and%  nearly  unseated  his  rider. 

The  sabres  of  Barsfield  and  Witherspoon  then  clashed  hur 
riedly,  and,  though  chafed  to  be  robbed  of  his  prey  even  by 
his  friend*  Mellicham^e  was   compelled   to   forbear  his  par 
ticular  game,  and  turn  his  attention  entirely  to  his  own  safety 
A  horse   plunged  by  him   riderless,  which  he  was  fortunaU 
enough  to  seize;   and  he  M'as  mounted  opportunely  just  as  ? 
fresh  charge  of  the  lories  separated  Witherspoon  from  his  op 
ponent,  whom  he  had  pressed  back  into  the  defile.    This  cliargr. 
drove  the  sergeant,  in  his  turn,  down  upon  the  original  posi 
tion  of  the  attacking  party.     The  impulse  was  for  a  few  me 
ments  irresistible,  and  two  or  three  of  the  men  fairly  turned 
tbi-r  horse':  and  fled  from  before  it.     Captain  Melton  seeing 
tbis,  gave  tLe  010.8     io  retreat,  and  the  trumpet  sounded  the 


quick  ami  mortifying-  signal.  But  the  voice  of  the  youthful 
Mellichampe  sounded  even  above  the  shrill  alarum  of  the  in 
strument,  as,  with  a  desperate  blow  with  his  sabre,  lie  struck 
ti.e  recreant  trumpeter  to  the  earth. 

"Shame  to  yon,  men  of  Marior  ! — shame!  —  do  you  fly 
from  the  tories  of  Waccamaw  ?  Do  you  give  back  before  the 
\Vinyah  mud  eaters  ?  Follow  me!" 

The  cry  of  Witherspoon  was  yet  more  characteristic,  and, 
perhaps,  far  more  potential. 

"  You  forget,  boys,  sartainly,  that  the  tories  find  it  natcral 
to  be  licked  ;  and  if  they  was  to  lick  you  now,  that's  licked 
them  so  often,  they  wouldn't  know  what  to  do  for  joy.  Turn 
to,  and  let's  lick  'em  ag'in  !" 

The  call  was  not  made  in  vain.  True  valor  is  quite  as  con 
tagious  as  fear,  since  it  is  always  quite  as  earnest.  The  parti 
sans  heard  the  words  of  their  leaders  —  they  saw  the  headlong 
rush  of  their  steeds;  and  they  rushed -forward  also  with  as 
generous  an  emotion.  They  were  received  with  a  front  quite 
as  firm,  and  a  ^pirit  not  less  forward  than  their  own.  The 
>ries,  too,  had  been  inspirited  by  their  success  in  the  first 
shock,  and,  with  loud  cheers,  they  prepared  for  the  second. 
The  encounter,  as  it  was  made  just  at  the  mouth  of  the  defile, 
a  circumscribed  position,  where  each  man  found  his  opponent, 
had  something  of  the  character  of  the  mixed  fight  of  the  mid 
dle  ages. 

The  rush  was  tremendous;  the  strife,  for  a  few  moments, 
terrible.  But  all  in  vain  did  the  eye  of  Mellichampb  distin 
guish,  and  his  spirit  burn  once  more  to  contend  with  his  deadly 
enemy.  They  were  kept  asunder  by  the  tide  f  battle.  The 
ranks  were  broken;  the  fight  became  pell-mell;  and,  on  a 
.sudden,  while  each  man  was  contending  with  his  enemy,  a 
Ik.-cc  cry  of  triumph  and  of  vengeance  burst  from  the  lips  of 
Barsneld  himself.  Mellichempei  though  closely  engaged,  with 
a  jsnut  dragoon,  suffered  lug  eye  to  seek  the  spot  whence  the 
sou  .c-  *,'ose,  and  ones  Jjs.r.sld  its  occasion.  Barsfield  had  been 
con-,  ._  d.  s-.sndir,  but  fine-looking  youth,  whom  ho 

had  "A  .-;.^rmed.     'i'ho  U.ITIC  of  his  conqueror  had  torn  him  fr:-_i 
las  ii.*:se  with  all  the  ££:<;.: :.glL  of  a  giant.     The  youth  lay  av 


SllAKI'    I'ASSAUKS    AT    ARMS.  1ST 

his  feet,  resting  upon  one  band,  looking  partly  upon  bis  foe 
and   partly   round,   as   if  imploring    succor  from   bis  friends. 
Mellicbampe    distinguisbed     tbe    features    instantly,    tbougb 
smeared  with  blood.     Tbey  were  tboso  of  Gabriel  Marion,  tbe 
ncpbcw  of  tbe  general,  a  youth  of  nineteen  only. 
,     "He  shall  not  die,  by  Heaven  !".  cried  Mellicbampe  aloud  ; 
in  tbe  same  moment,  with  a  daring  effort,  drawing  bis  horse 
back  from  tbe  encounter  witb   tbe  enemy  with  whom  be  was 
engaged,  as  if  in  flight  —  a  movement  which,  encouraging  the 
other  to  press  forward,  disordered   bis  guard,  and  placed  him 
at  disadvantage.     Meeting  his  stroke,  Mellicbampe  set  it  read 
ily    aside;  then,    striking  in   turn    at   tbe   bead   of  bis   oppo 
nent,  bo  put  spurs  to  bis  horse,  without  looking  to  see  wbat 
bad  been  tbe  effect  of  bis  blow,  and,  passing  quickly  beyond 
him,  rushed   forward   to  meet  with  Barsfield.     But,  as  he  ap 
proacbed,  be  saw  that  nothing  could  be  done  for  tbe  youth 
whose  band  was  uplifted  —  a  frail  defence  —  in  opposition  to 
bis  conqueror's  weapon. 

"  Stay,  Barsfield  —  strike  him  not,  scoundrel,  or  look  for  tbe 
vengeance  —  " 

But,  ere  the  speech  was  finished,  the  youth  leaped  once  more 
to  bis  feet,  and  tbe  weapon  meant  for  bis  bead  passed  over  it. 
Young  Marion  then  grasped  the  sword-arm  of  bis  enemy ;  but, 
drawing  bis  remaining  pistol  in  the  same  moment,  Barsfield 
shot  «him  through  the  breast. 

Tbe  cry  of  grief  on  the  one  band,  and  of  triumph  on  the 
other,  contributed  greatly  to  discourage  the  partisans.  That 
moment  was  fatal  to  several  more  in  their  ranks,  and  tbe 
disparity  of  force  was  now  in  favor  of  tbe  tories.  They  were 
soon  conscious  of  tbe  fact,  and  pressed  upon  their  enemies. 
Stung  with  shame,  Mellicharnpe  made  a  desperate  effort,  and, 
nobly  seconded  by  a  few,  threw  himself  in  tbe  path  of  the 
«nemy,  and  bravely  disputed  every  inch  of  ground,  yielding 
it  only  under  tbe  pressure  of  numbers. 

"I  can  not  fly,  Witberspoon  —  speak  not  of  it,  I  tell  you.  I 
know  that  the  odds  are  against  us,  bat  we  must  only  strike  tbe 
oftener." 


188  MELLICHAMPE. 

"  Well,  Airuest,  jist  as  you  say.  You  know  best,  if  you 
like  it ;  and  so-,  knock  away's  the  word." 

Two  or  three  brief  sentences  between  tie  friends  conveyed 
the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  the  scene  and  the  spirit  of  the 
combatants.  The  partisans  fought  well,  but  they  grew  weaker 
in  numbers  and  individual  strength  with  every  movement  of 
the  protracted  battle.  They  had  not  well  calculated  the  dif 
ference  of  personal  capacity  for  strife  and  endurance  of  fatigue 
between  drilled  men  and  volunteers ;  and,  though  the  spirit 
of  the  latter  for  a  time,  is  more  than  a  match  for  the  harden 
ing  practice  of  the  former,  yet  it  very  seldom  endures  so  well, 

"I  will  perish  on  this  field  —  I  will  not  leave  it,  and  show 
my  back  to  that  scoundrel !  Come  on,  men  !  —  come  on,  With- 
erspoon  ! — let  us  pluck  up  spirit  for  another  —  a  last  —  a  des 
perate  charge.  I  must  meet  with  Barsfield,  now ;  there  are 
too  few  on  either  side  to  keep  us  long  apart." 

A  brief  pause  in  the  combat,  as  if  by  tacit  consent,  enabled 
Mellichampe,  in  the  breathing  time  which  it  afforded,  to  con- 
.  vey  this  suggestion  and  resolve  to  the  few  fierce  spirits  still 
gathering  around  him  —  driven  back,  but  not  yet  defeated  — 
dispirited,  perhaps,  but  far  from  subdued.  They  freely  pledg 
ed  themselves  to  the  resolution,  and,  with  a  cheer,  as  if  they 
.  had  been  going  to  a  banquet,  they  drove  the  rowels  into  their 
jaded  steeds,  and  joined  once  more  in  the  struggle.  But  the 
weapons  had  scarcely  crossed,  and  the  close  strife  had  not  yet 
begun  when  the  shrill  notes  of  a  bugle  rang  through  the  wood 
to  the  left  of  the  combatants. 

"  It  is  Singleton's  trumpet,"  cried  Mellichampe  aloud  to  bin 
men  ;  and  a  cheer  of  encouragement  involuntarily  went  \\p  from 
their  lips  as  they  listened  to  the  grateful  music.  In  the  next 
moment,  at  full  gallop,  the  reinforcement  of  Singleton  came 
plunging  forward  to  the  rescue  from  the  woods  on  every  side, 
while  the  full-toned  voice  of  their  gallant  leader  shouted  to 
the  fainting  combatants  to  strike  on  without  faltering.  Bars- 
field,  so  lately  confident  of  his  triumph  over  his  enemy,  and 
of  his  vengeance  upon  the  one  foe,  in  particular,  about  to  be 
realized,  was  compelled  to  feu-ego  the  p-'ey  almost  within  hia 
grasp. 


SHARP    PASSAGES    AT    ARMS.  1  ft  3 

''Now,  may  the  hell  have  him  that  fights  for  him!"  cried 
the  disappointed  tory,  as,  with  the  first  appearance  of  Single 
ton's  troop,  lie  ordered  his  own  bugles  to  sound  the  retreat. 
Clearing,  with  terrible  blows,  the  few  enemies  that  were  yet 
clinging  around  him,  Barsfield  wheeled  furiously  in  his  flight, 
while,  close  at  his  heels,  pursuing  to  the  very  gates  of  Piney 
Grove,  but  not  fast  enough  to  overtake  him,  Singleton  urged  for 
ward  his  wearied  animals  in  tfie  fond  hope  of  annihilating  a 
foe  so  insolent,  and  who  promised  to  become  so  troublesome. 


MELUCHAMP*. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE    MAIDEN7'S    GIFT. 

BAUSFIELD  had  neither  ridden  so  far,  nor  in  such  haste,  as 
the  partisans  that  morning.  This  alone  saved  him.  His 
horses  were  inferior;  and,  but  for  the  fatigue  Avhich  his  ene 
mies  had  undergone,  he  must  have  been  overtaken.  The  judi 
cious  disposition  which  the  tory  had  made  of  his  baggage- 
wagons,  in  sending  them  back  to  Piney  Grove  at  the  first  ap 
pearance  of  danger,  also  contributed  greatly  to  the  facility  of 
his  movements;  and,  unimpeded  by  the  necessity  of  guarding 
them,  and  not  much  breathed  by  the  stirring  encounter  through 
which  they  had  passed,  the  stout  horses  his  men  bestrode, 
though  not  so  swift  as  those  of  the  Americans,  was  yet  better 
alile  to  make  headway  in  the  flight.  The  pursuit  was  hotly 
urged,  though  unsuccessful.  The  horses  of  Singleton  were  too 
much  jaded  with  the  hnixi  ride  of  twenty  odd  miles  which 
they  had  taken,  and  could  not  be  made  to  keep  up  even  with 
the  fagged  animals  of  Mellichampe's  little  troop.  Barsfield 
escaped  them,  and  safely  passed  through  the  avenue  of  Piney 
Grove  before  the  pursuing  party  came  in  sight. 

The  baggage-wagons  of  the  tory  had  just  arrived,  and,  with 
a  sagacious  disposition  of  his  force,  which  indicated  ability 
worthy  of  a  better  cause,  he  proceeded  to  make  effective  ar 
rangements  for  the  reception  of  Singleton's  troop,  which  was 
({tiite  too  large  to  suffer  him  to  think  that  so  enterprising  a 
partisan  would  draw  them  off  without  a  farther  attempt  upon 
him.  Dismounting  his  men  rapidly,  therefore,  he  threw  open 
the  doors  of  the  basement  story  of  the  mansion;  and,  without 


THE  MAIDEN'S  G;T'T.  1PJ 

lea/e  asked  or  given  —  the  exigency  was  too  pressing  for  mere 
courtesies  —  he  made  his  dragoons  stable  their  steeds  in  th?, 
jpacious  apartments.  Emptying  the  baggage-wagons  of  their 
contents,  lie  armed  his  men  with  the  muskets,  of  which  there 
was  sufficient  provision  j  and,  having  secured  the  residue  of 
their  stores  within  the  walls  of  tne  dwelling-house,  he  proceed 
ed,  to  the  great  disquiet  of  Mr.  Berkeley,  and  the  terror  of  the 
yoi'mg  ladies,  to  close  the  doors  and  make  a  fortress  of  the 
family  mansion,  The  upper  room;:1  were  barricaded  with  chairs 
and  tables  ;  and,  watchful  at  all  tho  F/iiicle  73,  tjLe  troopers  stood 
ready  with  their  musket',  ue^.'n^  fo-u  ?v  nr-.ticuously  and  warn- 
ingly  in  all  directions  from  the  bu"]cl:r,g. 

This  was  scarce!}7  done,  ,vhe:i  the  partisans  came  down  the 
avenue.  It  was  with  no  little  vexation  that  Singleton  sur 
veyed  this  prospect.  His  eye  at  a  moment  beheld  the  difficul 
ties  of  his  situation,  and  ih:,  danger  of  any  assault  upon  a  foe 
so  well  prepared.  To  rush  on  brick  walls,  and  be  met  by 
musket-bullets,  without  being  able  to  obtain  sight  of  the  de 
fenders,  was  not  the  pr,n.  of  a  discreet  valor  ;  and  yet,  to  leave 
an  enemy  so  enfeebled  rj  3;a\si]oki  was,  without  further  efforts 
to  overcome  or  destroy  lil.n,  was  ,-;till  more  irksome  to  a  bravo 
spirit  like  that  of  the  olnv,«r  in  command.  The  rash  and  head 
long  Mellicbampe.  however,  thinking  only  of  his  personal  hos 
tility  to  Barsfield,  could  hardly  be  restrained.  He  was  for 
immediately  charging,  and  hying  the  weight  of  an  axe  upon 
the  doors  of  the  dwelling. 

"Ay,  ay;  but  'how  to  get  there  ?"  cried  the  more  sagacious 
Singleton.  "No,  no,  Mellichampa.  we  must  try  some  better 
plan  —  some  safer  enterprise.  To  cross  the  yard  in  the  te,Hh 
of  those  muskets  would  be  certain  death  to  nearly  every  in  m 
who  makes  the  effort,  and  we  are  but  too  poorly  provided  with 
soldiers  to  be  thus  profligate.  V/e  must  think  of  something 
else;  and,  in  order  to  have  time  for  it,  let  us  send  a  message 
to  the  tory.  Let  us  see  what  fair  words  will  do,  find  the  prcm- 
'.-21  of  good  quarter.  Besides,  we  must  make  some  arrange- 
u..ciits  for  getting  the  family  out  of  the  house  before  making 
any  assault." 

Tbfl  truth  of  these  suggestions  was  unquestionable  ;  and  Mai- 


192  MKLLirilA.UI'K. 

lichampe  volunteered  to  bear  the  despatches,  but  Singletcc 
refused  him. 

"  No,  no  ;   the  risk  will  be  great  to  yot: ;   and  the  tory  hatsa 
you  too  well  to  stop  at  trifles.     He  might  be  tempted  to  scms 
desperate  act  if  you  are  to  bs  tl.o  messenger.     I  prefer  Y/i-'.h 
p.rspoon.  ' 

"  Jist  as  you  say,  major;  I'm  ready,  as  the  alligator  said  .c 
the  duck.  I'm  read)-;  though  I  a'n't  a  great  speaker,  yet  I 
can  tell  Barsfield  what  MG'H  to  reckon  on  if  lie  don't  come  to 
tarrns.  If  so  be  all  I've  £0t  to  say  is  to  tell  him  he'll  be  licked 
if  he  don't  give  up  &IJ.G.  c .  .... -..•-,! «.der,  I  can  do  that  easy  enough," 
was  the  prompt  speech  of  the  scout. 

"  You  know  there's  danger,  V?  itherspoon,"  said  Singleton. 
"  Tliis  fellow  Barsfield  may  not  think  it  becoming  to  treat  with 
a  rebel  ;  and  he  may  send  a  bullet  through  the  head  of  a  cou 
rier,  and  think  no  sin  of  it." 

11  Well,  he'd  be  a  mean  skunk  to  do  sich  a  thing,  major ; 
that's  agin  all  the  civilities  of  war.  I  knows  there's  danger, 
but  I  can't  help  it.  'Man  that  is  born  of  woman,' says  the 
Scripture  —  I  don't  rightly  call  to  mind  the  other  part  —  but  it 
means  that  we've  all  got  to  die  some  time  or  other,  and  'ta'n't 
the  part  of  a  brave  man  to  he  always  dodging  from  danger.  I 
must  take  my  chance,  major,  so  git  your  paper  ready.'' 

Singleton  pencilled  brief  but  honorable  proposals  to  the  tory, 
pledging  the  enlargement  of  himself  and  party  on  parole  if 
they  would  surrender;  and  denouncing  otherwise  the  well 
known  horrors  of  a  storm.  A  permission,  in  the  event  of  his 
refaaal  to  surrender,  was  extey>  ded  to  Mr.  Berkeley  and  Lia 
family,  but  no  other  person,  f  o  leave  the  beleaguered  dwelling 
T.  itherspoon  received  the  paper,  and  prepared  to  depart. 

"Mayn't  I  cany  my  rifle,  major  1  —  I  don't  feel  altogether 
natural  when  I  don't  have  it,  partic'larly  when  I'm  to  go  seek 
my  enemy/' 

"  No  arms,  Witherspoon  ;  nothing  but  the  flag." 

He  handed  the  weapon  to  Mellichampe  with  no  small  reluc 
tance. 

"  Take  care  of  her,  Airnest ;  she's  a  sweet  critter,  and  mak«5 
*  c?a,ck  that's  born  music,  and  I  loves  her." 


Tli::    JIAIDKN'S    GIFT.  193 

With  no  more  words,  arid  with  a  single  glance  toward  the 
youth,  that  spoke  volumes  of  affection  warmly  and  truly  felt, 
the  scout,  without  any  hesitation,  turned  away  from  the  park 
where  this  conference  was  carried  on;  and,  waving  his  hand 
kerchief  aloft  —  the  substitute  for  a  flag  —  he  proceeded  on  his 
way  of  peril  to  the  dwelling. 

"  I  see  a  rebel  with  a  flag!"  said  one  of  the  tories,  who  first 
discerned  the  despatch,  to  his  commander.  "  Shall  I  shoot 
him,  sir?" 

The  hesitation  of  Barsfield  to  reply  was  almost  a  permission, 
and  the  man  had  his  gun  lifted  and  ready  ;  but  the  tory  cap 
tain  thought  it  more  proper  or  more  prudent  to  forbear. 

"No;  let  him  come:  and  you,  Clayton,  receive  him  at  the 
entrance.  But  see  that  no  other  approaches.  Fire  at  the  first 
man  who  appears  within  reach  of  your  muskets." 

In  an  inner  room,  in  the  presence  of  the  family,  Barsfield 
received  the  messenger.  His  reply  to  the  message  was  one  of 
scornful  disdain. 

"  Well,  now,  cappin,"  said  Thumbscrew,  coolly,  "  you'd  bet 
ter  not  send  any  sich  word  to  the  major,  for  he's  old  hell  with 
his  grinders,  and  it'll  be  pretty  bad  for  you  if  he  once  gits  them 
into  your  flesh.  They'll  meet,  now,  I  tell  you,  if  he  does." 

"  You  are  answered,"  was  the  temperate  reply  of  the  tory, 
who  then  turned  to  Mr.  Berkeley. 

"  The  rebel  graciously  accords  you  permission,  with  your 
family,  to  leave  the  dwelling,  Mr.  Berkeley.  You  are  at  per 
fect  liberty  to  do  so,  if  you  please  ;  but,  if  you  will  rely  on  my 
defences,  there  is  no  danger :  the  place  is  perfectly  tenable." 

"  No,  no,  dear  father  —  let  us  go  —  let  us  fly.  There  is  dan 
ger  ;  and,  even  if  there  be  none,  it  is  no  place  for  us." 

"But  where  shall  we  go,  my  daughter?"  said  the  old  man, 
utterly  bewildered. 

"  To  the  overseer's  house,  father.  It  is  out  of  the  reach  of 
all  danger,  and  there  is  room  enough  for  us  all." 

They  came  forth  with  Witherspoon,  who  led  them  at  once 
into  the  park,  where  Mellichampe  received  and  escorted  them 
to  the  dwelling-house  of  the  overseer,  a  rude  but  spacious 
building,  that  stood  in  a  field  running  along  at  a  little  distance 


194  MKLLICIIAMPK. 

^ 

to  tlie  west  of  the  avenue,  within  sight  and  hearing  of  lite 
mansion-house,  but  beyond  reach  of  fiic-arms  from  that  quarter 
It  was  a  moment  of  sweet  sorrow,  that  which  Mellichampe  ami 
Janet  enjoyed  in  the  brief  interview  which  the  necessities  of 
the  time  permitted  them.  The  cheerful  and  stimulating 
sounds  of  the  trumpet  recalled  him  to  his  duties,  and,  with  a 
word  of  encouragement  and  hope,  whicli  was  answered  by  her 
tears,  he  hurried  away  to  the  field  of  strife,  and  the  presei:re 
of  the  energetic  Singleton. 

"  Lieutenant  Mellichampe,  take  your  men,  throw  down  yon 
der  panels,  <and  cross  into  the  garden  ;  keep  them  under  cover 
where  the  shelter  is  sufficient  to  conceal  your  movement,  and 
have  your  horses  then  fastened  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  rising  on 
the,  right.  A  couple  of  sentries  will  guard  them  there.  This 
done,  return  to  the  post  assigned  you  in  the  garden,  covering 
the  dwelling  on  the  rear  with  your  rifles." 

Mellichampe  moved  promptly,  in  obedience  to  his  orders, 
and  soon  succeeded  in  securing  possession  of  the  garden 
Dividing  his  command  in  such  a  manner  as  to  place  a  similai 
body  of  men  in  watch  over  each  quarter  of  the  building 
Singleton  proceeded  to  try  the  effect  of  his  rifles  upon  such  of 
the  defenders  as  were  more  than  necessarily  exposed.  His 
men  were  dismounted  for  this  purpose,  their  horses  secured  in 
safety,  and  each  man  was  put  in  possession  of  his  tree. 

To  the  rifles  of  Singleton  the  muskets  of  Barsfield's  party 
readily  responded,  and,  for  a  few  moments,  the  din  and  uproar 
were  continued  with  no  little  spirit.  The  musketry  soon 
ceased,  however.  Barsfield  discovered  that  it  was  not  his 
policy  to  risk  his  men,  two  of  whom  had  fallen  in  this  overture, 
in  any  such  unequal  conflict.  The  certainty  of  the  rifle,  in 
such  hands  as  those  of  the  partisans,  was  too  great  a  danger 
to  be  wantonly  opposed  by  musket-men.  There  was  no  ne 
cessity  for  any  such  exposure  on  the  part  of  the  besieged  :  all 
that  they  were  required  to  do  was  to  keep  watch  upon  the 
area  below,  and  prevent  the  nearer  approach  of  the  beleaguer 
ing  party.  After  a  few  rounds,  therefore,  had  shown  what  re 
suits  must  follow  such  a  combat,  Barslield  forbade  the  firing  from 
the  house,  and  commanded  that  his  men  should  lie  close,  o?.ily 


THE  MAIDEN'S  GJFI.  195 

watching  for  an  occasional  exposure  of  the  persons  of  their 
enemies  within  certain  reach  of  their  muskets. 

The  bugle  of  Singleton  called  up  his  officers.  They  assem 
bled,  as  at  a  central  and  safe  point,  at  the  overseer's  dwelling, 
to  which  the  family  of  Mr.  Berkeley  had  retired.  A  small 
room  was  assigned  the  partisans,  and  there  they  carried  on 
tlieir  hurried  deliberations. 

"  This  is  child's  play,  gentlemen,"  said  Singleton  ;  "  can  we 
find  no  better  mode  of  dislodging  these  rascals?  Our  shot  do 
little  good  now.  There  is  no  object  to  aim  at,  Barsfield  has 
discovered  the  difference  between  rifled  and  smooth  bore,  and 
keeps  too  snug  to  suffer  any  harm  at  our  hands.  We  must 
think  of  something,  gentlemen  ;  and  it  must  be  done  quickly, 
or  not  at  all,  for  Tarleton's  on  the  road,  and  we  must  beat 
Barsfield  by  noon,  or  leave  him.  What  do  you  say  ?  I  should 
he  pleased,  gentlemen,  to  have  your  suggestions." 

"  Many  men,  many  minds."  It  would  be  needless  to  say, 
that  there  must,  be  various  counsels  when  there  are  many  coun 
sellors.  Each  had  his  notion  and  his  plan,  but  to  all  there 
were  objections.  Humphries,  at  length,  proposed  to  fire  the 
dwelling.  All  agreed  that  this  was  the  wisest  suggestion  — 
the  effective  plan,  if  it  could  only  be  made  available.  But 
who  was  to  carry  the  fire  to  the  fortress  —  who  was  to  cross 
the  yard,  in  the  teeth  of  thirty  muskets,  and  "  bell  the  cat"  ? 
snd  what  would  be  the  chances  of  his  life,  or  of  his  success,  in 
the  endeavor  ?  This  was  the  question,  to  which  there  was  no 
ready  answer.  It  was  obvious  enough  that  any  one  approach 
ing  the  building  with  such  a  purpose,  or  with  any  purpose,  as 
an  enemy,  must  be  shot  down  by  its  defenders.  A  silence  of 
several  minutes  followed  the  utterance  of  these  views  by  Sin 
gleton.  The  silence  was  broken  by  one  —  a  slender,  pale,  and 
trembling  youth,  who  emerged  from  behind  the  commander. 
His  lips  quivered  as  he  spoke,  but  it  was  not  with  fear.  His 
eye  kindled  with  light,  even  while  its  long  dark  lashes  seemed 
suffused  with  the  dews  of  a  tender  heart. 

"  I  will  go,  major,"  were  his  quickly-uttered  words. 

"You,  Lance?  —  whyt  boy,  you  will  be  shot  down  instantly. 
Impossible!  —  you  must  not  think  of  it!"  was  the  imperative 
reply. 


196  MELLICHAMl'E. 

"But,  sir,  I  can  run  fast:  I  can  first  get  to  the  fallen  tree 
and  so  quickly,  I  don't  think  they  can  hit  me  in  that  time; 
and  then  the  next  push  is  for  the  piazza.  Once  I  get  under 
the  piazza,  I  will  be  safe :"  and  the  lad  trembled  v/ith  his  own 
earnestness. 

"  Perhaps  you  might,  Lance,  but  it  would  be  impossible  to 
preserve  your  fire  in  such  a  race,  and  the  risk  is  too  great  to 
be  undertaken  with  such  a  prospect." 

Singleton  was  imperative,  but  the  youth  continued  to  urge 
his  plan.  At  that  moment  a  servant,  entering  the  apartment, 
beckoned  Mcllichampc  away.  He  was  sent  for  by  Janet,  who 
received  him  in  the  adjoining  room. 

"  I  have  heard,"  said  she,  "  some  of  your  deliberations  with 
out  intending  it:  but  your  voices  are  loud,  and  these  are  thin 
partitions.  The  youth  must  not  be  suffered  to  go  to  certain 
death.  I  understand  your  difficult}7,  and  think  it  may  bo, 
overcome.  I  have  a  plan  for  you." 

"You!"  exclaimed  Mellichampe,  with  a  smile. 

"Yes  :  look  at  this  bow  and  these  arrows,"  pointing  to  a 
noble  shaft,  which  leaned  in  the  corner  of  the  room;  "they 
were  the  gift  of  a  Catawba  warrior  to  my  father  when  I  was 
but  a  child.  They  are  as  good  as  new.  They  will  convey 
combustibles  to  the  roof — they  will  do  what  you  desire." 

"But  your  old  home  —  your  family  dwelling,  Janet  —  sacred 
to  you  as  your  birthplace,  and  as  the  birthplace  of  your 
mother — "  was  the  suggestion  of  her  lover. 

"  Sacred  as  my  home,  as  my  own  and  my  mother's  birth 
place,  it  is  yet  doubly  sacred  as  my  country's.  Place  your 
combustibles  upon  these  arrows,  and  send  them  to  the  aged 
roof  of  that  family  mansion  ;  and  I  shall  not  joy  the  less  to  see 
it  burn  because  it  is  my  father's,  and  should  be  mine,  when  I 
know  that  in  its  ruin  the  people  and  the  cause  I  love  must 
triumph.  God  forbid  and  keep  me  from  the  mean  thought 
that  I  shall  lose  by  that  which  to  my  country  must  be  so  great 
a  gain." 

The  wondering  and  delighted  Mellichampe  could  only  look 
his  admiration.  She  stood  before  him,  with  her  dark  eye 
flashing;  but  suffused,  and  her  lip  tromblhig  with  the  awful 


THE  MAIDEN'S  GIFT.  197 

patriotism  and  warm  feeling  in  her  soul,  as  the  very  imbodi- 
ment  of  liberty  itself — that  divine  imbodiment  whoso  sub 
stance  is  truth,  whose  light  is  life,  whoso  aim  is  a  perfect 
humanity. 

"Dearest  Janet — Worthy  of  adoration  as  of  love — your 
self-sacrificing  spirit  is  a  rebuke  to  my  own  heart.  I  would 
have  saved  that  mansion  for  your  sake,  though  even  my  enemy 
—  my  deadly  enemy  —  should  escape  his  just  punishment 
thereby." 

"Go,  Ernest,"  she  responded,  "go! — you  have  no  time  to 
lose.  Let  not  that  noble  youth  expose  himself  to  certain  death. 
Take  the  arrows,  and  do  not  let  the  hand  tremble  and  the  eye 
turn  aside  when  you  direct  them  to  that  sacred  roof;  it  is  now 
devoted  to  our  country." 

He  seized  the  bow  and  arrows,  carried  her  hand  to  his  lips, 
and  rushed  back  to  the  place  of  conference.  Singleton  was 
overjoyed  when  the  primitive  weapon  was  put  into  his  hands, 

"Happy  chance!  —  and  who  has  given  you  these,  Melli- 
champe  V 

"A  woman !" 

"  What,  Miss  Berkeley  1" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  with  a  knowledge  of  their  probable  use  ?" 

"  With  the  avowed  purpose  of  destroying  by  them  her 
father's  dwelling  and  her  own." 

"Noble  creature!"  was  the  only  exclamation  of  Singleton. 
The  thoughts  of  his  mind  wandering  away,  at  that  instant, 
without  his  power  to  control  them ;  and,  in  his  mind's  eye,  he 
surveyed  the  form  of  another  self-sacrificing  maiden — how 
different  from  Janet  Berkeley  in  form  and  character,  but.  oh  i 
bow  very  like  in  soul. 


198  MKLMCHAMFB. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

CAI'UICKS    OF    THE    CONFLICT. 

Wirii  the  overruling  judgmen^of  a  master-spirit,  S*~#letoii 
immediately  proceeded  to  make  his  arrangements.  To  Melli- 
champc  he  gave  orders  to  remount  his  men,  and,  leading  them 
around  the  park,  once  more  gain  possession  of  the  avenue, 
Here  he  was  to  await  the  result  of  the  experiment,  and  tu 
intercept  the  flight  of  the  tories  when  they  should  he  driven  out 
from' their  fortress  by  the  progress  of  the  flames.  Humphries 
was  commanded  to  scatter  his  riflemen  around  the  -mansion, 
keeping  close  watch  upon  every  movement  of  the  garrison 
within  :  while  two  or  three  of  the  men,  more  experienced  in 
such  -matters,  were  occupied  in  preparing  the  combustibles 
which  were  to  be  fastened  to  the  lighted  arrows.  Singleton 
himself  took  charge  of  the  bow  ;  and,  laying  aside  his  sword 
and  every  weapon  which  was  calculated  to  encumber  his 
movement,  himself  prepared  to  discharge  the  more  arduous 
part  of  the  proposed  experiment.  His  commands  were  nearly 
all  instantly  and  simultaneously  executed.  A  lively  blast  of 
the  bugle,  from  various  quarters  of  the  grounds,  gave  token  of 
concerted  preparation.  Arming-  himself  with  the  prepared 
arrows,  the  partisan  advanced. 

"  Lie  close,  men  !  lie  close  !"  he  cried,  as  he  saw  several  of 
them  emerging  from  shelter;  "  Lie  close  and  watch  the  win 
dows.  Go  back,  Lance,  and  have  your  rifle  in  readiness." 

With  these  words  he  advanced  quickly  but  stealthily,  and 
with  a  heedful  movement,  from  one  tree  to  another,  until, 
reaching  the  inner  limit  of  the  park,  he  looked  down  upon  the 
yard  immediately  around  the  dwelling,  and  saw  that  from  that 
part  he  could  certainly  send  his  arrows  to  the  roof. 


CAJ'KICKa    Ul<    TUK    CONFLICT. 

Uoolly  preparing  himself,  therefore,  while  all  behind  him 
were  breathlessly  watching,  now  their  commander  and  now  the 
(1  \velling.  Singleton  fell  back  for  an  instant,  and  closely  ob 
served  the  probable  distance  and  height  of  the  roof;  then  ad 
vancing  to  the  tree,  and*  planting  his  rigrht  foot  firmly  behind 
liim,  he  drew  the  long  arrow  to  the  head,  until  the  missiles 
which  were  attached  to  it  grazed  against  the  bended  back  of 
the  elastic  yew.  In  another  instant,  and  the  meteor-like  shaft 
went  whizzing  and  kindling  through  the  air,  darting  on  with  a 
true  aim  and  unvarying  flight,  until,  to  the  delight  of  the  watch 
ing  partisans,  it  buried  itself,  blazing  all  the  while,  in  the.  very 
bosom  of  the  shingled  roof.  A  long  redoubled  shout  of  ap 
plause  followed  the  achievement,  and  but  a  few  moments  had 
elapsed  when  Barsfield  became  conscious  of  the  new  danger 
Which  awaited  him. 

'"Ila!"  he  cried,  as  he  beheld  the  position  which  Singleton 
had  taken  behind  the  tree,  which,  however,  only  in  part  con 
cealed  him.  "  Send  me  a  score  of  bullets  at  the  rebel,  or  he 
will  smoke  us  out  like  so  many  rats.  Shoot,  men !  take  good 
aim,  and  stop  him  before  it  be  too  late." 

A  dozen  muskets  poured  forth  their  contents  in  the  direction 
of  the  daring  partisan.  The  bullets  flew  all  around  him  where 
he  stood,  but  he  stood  unhurt.  The  moment  after  their  fire 
was  favorable  to  another  effort ;  and,  cool  and  thoughtful, 
Singleton  was  soon  ready  with  a  second  shaft.  Once  more  the 
whizzing  arrow  went  blazing  as  fiercely  and  furiously  as  the 
first,  and  aimed  with  equal  judgment  at  a  different  portion  of 
the  roof,  Another  and  another  followed  in  quick  succession, 
in  spite  of  the  successive  volleys  of  musketry  which  poured 
around  him  from  the  dwelling.  In  a  little  while  the  success 
of  the  experiment  was  no  longer  questionable. 

"It  burns!  it  burns!"  was  the  cry  from  the  surrounding 
partisans,  and  the  surface  of  the  roof  was  now  sprinkled  with 
jets  of  flame,  that  flickered  along  the  dry  shingles,  gathering 
new  bulk  with  every  instant,  and  spreading  themselves  away 
in  thin  layers  of  light,  until  the  air,  agitated  into  currents  by 
the  progress  of  the  fire,  contributed  to  send  it  in  huge  volumes, 
rolling  m  and  upward  into  the  sky.  Shout  upon  shout  from 


200  MELLICHAMFE 

the  lips  of  the  partisans  attested  their  joy,  and  congratulated 
their  successful  captain,  through  whose  fearless  and  skilful 
agency  the  design  had  been  effected.  Their  cheering  cries, 
more  than  anything  besides,  announced  to  the  tories  the  new 
dangers  of  their  situation,  and  the  desperate  position  in  which 
they  stood.  Singleton  well  conceived  what  might  be  their 
course,  and  gave  his  orders  accordingly. 

"  Riflemen  !  stand  by  to  watch  the  scuttle.  Look  out  for 
the  roof!  Mark  the  scuttle,  and  shoot  closely!" 

Ascending  to  the  garret,  by  the  aid  of  a  little  ladder  which 
always  stood  there  for  such  a  purpose,  Barsfield  himself  pro 
ceeded  to  throw  open  the  scuttle,  when  he  was  warned  of  the 
watchfulness  of  the  besiegers  by  the  sharp  crack  of  the  rifle, 
and  the  instantaneous  passage  of  the  bullet  through  the  scut 
tle  door,  and  just  above  his  head. 

"  Too  quick,  Lance  !  too  quick  by  half!"  cried  Singleton  to 
the  precipitate  youth,  who  had  fired  before  the  tory's  head 
had  made  its  appearance.  The  boy  sank  back  abashed  and 
mortified.  Barsfield,  meanwhile,  descended  with  much  greater 
rapidity  than  satisfaction,  and  the  dense  smoke  rushed  down 
the  aperture  after  him,  filling  the  chambers  with  its  suffocating 
and  increasing  masses. 

"  It  burns  like  tinder,  and  we  have  no  water,"  said  Clayton. 

"  And  if  we  had,"  cried  Barsfield  fiercely,  "  who  in  the 
devil's  name  would  apply  it  under  the  fire  from  those  rifles?" 

"  And  what  are  we  to  do  ?"  cried  one  of  the  subordinates, 
emboldened  by  the  near  approach  of  a  common  danger; 
"  Shall  we  stay  here  to  be  smoked  alive,  like  so  many  wild 
beasts  in  a  hole  ?" 

"  Should  we  not  now  surrender,  Captain  Barsfield,  if  we  can 
get  fair  terms  of  quarter?"  was  the  suggestion  of  Clayton. 

"What!  beg  terms  of  that  youngster?  Never!"  fiercely 
responded  the  tory.  '•  I  will  perish  'first !" 

"  Ay,  but  we  shall  all  perish  with  you,  and  I  see  no  good 
reason  for  that,  Captain  Barsfield,"  was  the  calmer  speech  of 
Clayton.  "  We  should  apply  for  quarters  to  any  youngster, 
rather  than  be  smoked  alive." 

"  And,  if  you  did  apply,  would   they  hear  us,  think  you  ? 


CAPRICES    OF    TflK    CONFLICT        •  201 

Would  they  grant  us  the  terms  which  we  have  already  refused 
with  insult  and  disdain]  No,  no,  Lieutenant  Clayton  ;  they 
would  cry  '  Tarleton's  quarters'  in  your  ears  in  answer  to  all 
your  applications,  and  taunt  you,  while  your  limbs  dangled 
up  311  yonder  oak,  with  oifr  own  good  doings  of  the  same  sort." 

"What  then?  Are  we  to  stay  here  and  perish  by  a  death 
so  horrid  ?  Shall  we  not  rather  sally  forth  and  fight  1" 

"Yes,  fight  them  to  the  last,  of  course,"  was  the  response  of 
Barsfield.  "There  is  a  mode,  and  but  one  that  I  can  see, 
of  getting  out  from  these  difficulties.  I've  escaped  a  worst1. 
chance  than  this;  and,  with  a  good  sword  and  stout  heart,  I 
fear  not  to  escape  from  this." 

"Speak,  Barsfield —  how?"  cried  Clayton,  impatiently. 

"Mount  our  horses  and  cut  our  way  through  the  rebels. 
They  have  dismounted  and  put  their  horses  out  of  ready 
reach  ;  and,  if  we  cut  our  way  through  them,  we  shall  get 
start  enough  to  keep  ahead  of  them  before  they  can  mount." 

"Ay,  ay  —  a  good  enough  plan,  were  we  mounted  ;  but  the 
first  step  that  carries  us  beyond  these  walls  puts  us  in  the  eye 
of  their  rifles.  How  shall  we  get  to  our  horses,  unless  by  first 
exposing  ourselves  in  the  piazza  ?" 

"You  are  but  young  as  a  soldier,  Lieutenant  Clayton,"  was 
the  sarcastic  response  of  the  tory  captain,  "  and  have  much  to 
learn  in  the  way  of  war  and  its  escapes.  I  will  show  you  how 
we  fehall  reach  the  hoises  without  exposing  ourselves,  until  \ve 
rush  forth,  armed  and  upon  their  backs,  prepared  for  fight  as 
well  as  our  enemies.  Every  man  will  then  be  required  to  rely 
upon  himself;  and  for  the  hindmost,  God  help  him  !  for  we 
may  not.  Where's  Fender?"  he  concluded,  looking  round 
among  the  men,  whose  faces  the  crowding  smoke  was  already 
beginning  to  obscure. 

"Here,  sir,"  cried  the  man,  coming  forward. 

"  Unsling  your  axe  and  throw  off  your  jacket,"  cried  the 
tory.  coolly  :  "  shut  your  mouth,  if  you  please,  sir  ;  you  can  do 
nothing  so  long  as  you  keep  it  thus  ajar.  Is  your  axe  ready1?' 

"It  is,  sir/'  was  the  reply;  and,  under  the  direction  of 
Barsfield,  the  soldiei  proceeded  to  tear  away  the  washboard 
which  fastened  down  the  edges  of  the  floor,  and  then  t.o  rip  iij. 


202 


MKLLICIIAMI'E. 


two  or  three  boards  of  the  floor  itself — a  duty  soon  performed 
by  the  vigorous  axeman.  By  this  time,  however,  the  smoke 
had  become  dense  and  almost  insupportable;  and  the  moment 
the  aperture  was  made  in  the  floor,  admitting  them  to  the 
lower  or  basement  story,  where  the  horses  had  been  stabled, 
with  a  rapidity  that  defied  all  the  efforts  of  their  cooler  com 
mander,  the  tories,  huddled  upon  one  another,  hurried  and 
tumbled  through,  glad  to  escape  from  their  late  predicament, 
even  with  the  chances  before  them  of  a  hopeless  and  desperate 
struggle,  such  as  Barsficld  had  painted  to  their  eyes. 

The  stern  calmness  of  their  leader,  during  all  this  proceed 
ing,  was  creditable  in  the  highest  degree.  He  exhibited  no 
hurry,  no  apprehension  —  none  of  that  precipitate  haste  which 
defeats  execution,  while  it  exhibits  deficient  character.  When 
he  got  below,  he  himself  saw  that  each  man  had  mounted  his 
proper  steed  and  stoal  in  readhress,  before  he  took  the  bridle 
of  his  own.  He  then  astfed  if  all  were  ready  :  he  placed  him 
self  in  the  advance,  gave  orders  to  one  of  the  men  to  turn  the 
latch,  but  not  to  unclose  the  door — a  duty  which  he  reserved 
to  himself— and  then  addressed  them  in  terms  of  the  most 
encouraging  composure. 

"  Have  no  fear,  men  ;  but  each  man,  as  he  passes  through 
the  door,  will  at  once  strike  for  the  entrance  of  the  avenue. 
The  brick  foundations  of  the  piazza  and  the  smoke  will  con 
ceal  yon  for  a  few  moments.  I  will  go  first  from  this  hole,  but 
I  will  be  the  last  to  move.  Lieutenant  Clayton  will  follow 
me  out,  but  he  will  lead  the  way  to  the  avenue.  Follow  him  ; 
keej>  cool  —  keep  straight  forward,  and  only  turn  when  you 
turn  to  strike  a  foe.  Are  all  ready  ?" 

"  Ay,  sir,  all  ready  ?"  was  the  reply.  With  the  words,  with 
his  own  steed  behind  him,  Barsfield,  on  foot,  led  him  forth,  and 
was  the  first  to  emerge  into  the  light.  He  was  not  instantlv 
perceived  by  the  assailants,  such  was  the  cloud  of  smoke  be 
tween  them  and  the  dwelling;  but  when,  one  after  another, 
with  a  fearful  rush,  each  trooper  bounded  forth,  driving  for 
ward  with  relentless  spur  to  the  avenue  in  front,  then  did 
Singleton,  becoming  conscious  of  their  flight,  e^ive  his  orders 
for  pursuit. 


CAPRICES    OF   THE    CONFLICT.  203 

"  Double  quick  step,  riflemen  ;  Lurry  on  with  you,  and  skirt 
the  fence.  Your  rifles  will  then  cover  them  as  they  fly,  and 
Mellichampe  will  answer  for*  the  rest.  Quick  step,  men,  or 
yott  lose  the  fire." 

The  partisans  were  prompt  enough  in  obeying  these  orders, 
but  there  had  been  some  miscalculation  in  the  distance,  or  the 
speed  of  fear  had  not  been  taken  into  the  estimate  of  those 
Advantages,  possessed  by  the  enemy,  for  which  Singleton  be 
lieved  himself  prepared.  The  tories  were  already  in  the  avenue 
before  the  riflemen  reached  the  skirts  of  the  park.  Barsfield, 
bringing  up  the  rear,  his  huge  form  erect,  his  hand  waving  de 
fiance,  was  the  only  individual  at  whom  a  shot  was  obtained. 
At  him  several  bullets  were  sped  ;  but  there  is  a  something  m 
the  daring  indifference  of  boldness  which  not  unfrequently 
deranges  the  truest  aim  of  an  enemy.  Tlie  tory  was  unhurt; 
yet  some  of  the  rifles  pointed  at  his  back  were  held  by  the 
best  marksmen  of  the  lower  country. 

But  a  new  enemy  sprang  up  in  the  pathway  of  the  tory,  and 
the  sabre  of  the  impetuous  Mellichampe  once  more  clashed 
with  that  of  his  enemy. 

"Ha,  ha!"  cried  Mellichampe,  "you  were  long  in  coming, 
but  I  have  you  now.  You  are  mine  at  last !" 

There  was  a  demoniac  delight  in  the  expression  of  the 
youth's  countenance,  as,  with  these  words,  he  confronted  his 
foe.  . 

"Stand  aside,  boy!"  was  the  hoarse  reply  of  the  tory,  as, 
wheeling  his  horse  to  the  opposite  hand  of  the  avenue,  he 
seemed  rather  disposed  to  pass  than  to  encounter  the  youth 
Mellichampe  regarded  no  other  enemy,  and  the  troop  of  Bars- 
field  mingled  pell-mell  in  the  strife  with  the  partisans,  who 
were  scattered  before  them  up  the  avenue. 

With  the  sidling  movement  of  Barsfield,  the  steed  of  Melli 
champe,  under  the  impetuous  direction  of  his  rider,  was  wheeled 
directly  across  his  path,  and  the  tory  saw  at  a  glance  that  the 
encounter  could  not  be  avoided.  Preparing  for  it,  therefore, 
with  all  his  energies,  he  threw  aside  the  weapon  of  his  enemy, 
and  the  swords  recoiled  from  each  other  in  the  fierce  collision, 
us  if  with  an  instinct  of  their  own.  Again  they  bounded  and 


204:  MELLICHAMPE. 

buckled  together;  and  then  there  was  a  momentary  pause  in 
the  combat,  as  the  weapons  crossed  in  air,  in  which  the  eyes  of 
the  inveterate  foes  glared  upon*  each  other  with  the  thirstful 
expression  of  demoniac  hate.  Like  lightning  then,  i'ur  a  few 
moments,  the  opposing  blades  darted  around  each  combatant's 
head;  then  came  the  deadly  thrust  and  the  heavy  blow  —  the 
ready  guard,  and  the  swift  stroke  in  return. 

Though  brave  enough  in  common  parlance,  there  was  yet 
that  in  the  face  of  Mellichampe  from  which  the  tory  seemed 
to  shrink.  The  youth  had  been  roused  by  repeated  wrungs, 
and  maddened  by  continued  disappointments,  which  defeated 
his  promised  hope  of  vengeance.  The  accumulated  venom  of 
a  rierce  and  injured  spirit  shot  forth  from  his  eye,  and  ga*;e  a 
dreadful  earnestness  to  every  effort  of  his  arm,  so  that  the  ine 
quality  of  physical  strength  between  himself  and  his  enemy 
did  not  at  iirst  seem  so  evident. 

The  consciousness  of  having  wronged  the  youth,  and  the 
moral  inferiority  which,  in  all  respects,  he  felt  to  him,  neutral 
ized  in  some  degree  the  natural  advantage  which  the  tory  pos 
sessed  of  greater  muscle,  and  the  acquired  advantage  of  great 
er  skill  and  experience.  How  else,  indeed,  could  one  so  slender 
as  Mellichampe  —  his  bones  not  yet  hardened  to  manhood,  and 
he  yet  in  the  gristle  of  youth  —  contend  so  long  and  so  equally 
with  a  frame  so  huge  as  that  of  Barsfield  ?  How  else,  if  the 
heart  were  not  conscious  of  right  in  the  one  and  of  wrong  in 
the  other,  could  the  former  put  aside  the  weighty  blow  of  his 
enemy  with  so  much  ease,  and  respond  to  it  with  so  much 
power  ?  Thrice,  in  the  deadliest  stroke,  had  he  foiled  the 
tory,  and  now  he  pressed  on  him  in  return. 

"  It  is  now  for  me,  villain,"  cried  the  youth,  as  he  struck  the 
rowel  into  his  steed,  and  rose  upon  his  stirrups  a  moment  after, 
to  give  point  with  a  downward  stroke  at  the  breast  of  his  ene 
my,  whose  steed  had  sunk,  under  the  sudden  press  of  his 
rider's  curb,  backward  upon  his  haunches  — 

"  It  is  now  my  turn,  villain,  and  my  father's  blood  clamors 
for  that  of  his  murderer.  Have  at  your  heart.  Ha  !" 

The  stroke  was  descending,  and  was  with  difficulty  parried 
by  the  sabre  of  the  tory.  It  was  put  aside,  however,  at  the 


CAPRICES    OF    THE    CONFLICT.  205 

utmost  stretch  of  Barsfield's  arm  —  liis  body  being  writhed 
round  into  an  unnatural  position  for  that  purpose.  The  danger 
was  only  delayed.  In  another  moment  he  felt  assured  that  the 
stroke  of  Mellichampe — -a  backward  stroke  —  must  be  re 
peated,  and  that  he  could  not  recover  his  seat  in  time  to  ward 
it  aside  ;  but,  ere  the  youtfi  could  effect  his  object —  to  which 
he  had  addressed  his  entire  energies,  conscious  that  he  now 
had  the  tory  at  complete  advantage  —  the  forefeet  of  his  horse 
struck  upon  the  carcass  of  a  slain  soldier,  which  slipped  from 
under  him,  yet  carrying  him  forward,  till  he  stumbled  irrecov 
erably  and  came  to  his  knees. 

The  moment  was  lost  ;  and,  in  the  next,  Barsfield  had  re 
covered  his  seat,  from  which  the  force  of  Mellichampe's  as- 
saulfs,  and  the  efforts  necessary  for  his  own  defence,  had  half 
uplifted  him.  It  was  his  turn  now  to  press  upon  his  foe. 
Wheeling  his  horse  suddenly  round,  he  dealt  him  a  heavy  blow 
upon  the  shoulder  of  his  sword-arm,  which  precipitated  the 
youth  to  the  earth,  while  wounding  him  severely.  The  tory 
would  have  paused  to  render  his  victory  more  complete  ;  but, 
as  he  looked  upon  the  avenue  before  him,  he  saw  that  he  was 
isolated.  Cutting  their  way,  without  pausing  for  any  particu 
lar  encounter  such  as  had  controlled  the  flight  of  their  leader, 
his  men  had  sped  onward  ;  and,  though  fighting  with  the  par 
tisans  at  every  step,  had  yet  succeeded  in  carrying  the  fight 
forward  to  the  entrance. 

The  tory  captain  saw  that  he  had  no  time  for  delay.  Wither- 
spoon,  who  had  been  busily  engaged,  was  now  pressing  toward 
him,  closely  followed  by  another  ;  and,  though  casting  a  wist 
ful  look  upon  his  prostrate  enemy,  as  if  he  longed  to  make 
certain  his  victory,  the  safety  of  his  own  life  depended  npon 
his  haste,  and  was  infinitely  more  important  to  him  than  even 
the  death  of  so  deadly  an  enemy  as  Mellichampe.  Even  now 
it  was  doubtful  what  success  would  attend  his  endeavor  to  pass 
the  scattered  partisans  who  lay  in  his  path  ;  and  he  felt  that 
all  his  energies  were  required  to  meet  the  shock  of  Wither- 
spoon,  who  was  fast  approaching. 

While  thus  lie  prepared  himself,  the  shrill  clamor  of  afresh 
trumpet  broke  sud  lenly  upon  his  sense,  and  brought  him  re* 


206  MELLICHAMPE. 

lief.  It  anil oun ced  the  corning  of  a  new  force,  and  the  proba 
bility  was  that  it  was  British.  Of  this  Barsfield,  in  another 
moment,  had  no  doubt,  as  he  saw  Witherspoon,  no  longer  seek 
ing  the  conflict,  rush  past  him  in  the  direction  of  the  burning 
mansion.  The  woodman  had  beheld  the  steel  caps  and  the 
blue  uniforms  of  the  approaching  force,  and  at  once  recognised 
the  formidable  corps,  two  hundred  strong,  of  the  legionary 
Tarh'.ton.  Barsfield  rode  on  to  meet  his  superior,  and  explain 
the  situation  of  affairs  before  him.  Witherspoon,  meanwhile, 
leaping  from  his  horse,  which  he  let  go  free,  rushed  to  the  spot 
where  Mcllichampe  had  fallen. 

"  Almost  1  Airnest,  boy!"  he  cried,  as  he  stooped  down 
to  the  insensible  body  ]  "  Speak  to  me,  Airnest  —  speak  to  me, 
it's  me,  Jack  —  it's  Thumbscrew,  Airnest.  Only  say  some 
thing —  only  a  word  —  I  don't  care  what  you  says,  Airnest ; 
but  say  something.  God  ha'  mercy!  He  don't  hear!— he 
can't  talk.  Airnest !  Airnest !" 

A  groan  met  his  ears  and  half  relieved  him. 

"Thank  God,  it  'taint  so  bad.  He's  got  life  in  him  yet; 
and,  if  I  can  only  carry  him  out  of  the  way  of  the  horses, 
nnd  let  Miss  Janet  know  where  to  find  him — " 

Thus  speaking,  he  raised  the  insensible  body  in  his  arms, 
and  hurried  with  him  toward*  the  ditch,  over  which  he 
sought  to  pass.  His  aim  was  to  carry  the  youth  into  the  thick 
copse  beyond,  where  he  could  place  him  out  of  sight  of  the 
approaching  enemy.  But  he  had  overtasked  his  own  strength, 
after  the  severe  fatigue  and  fighting  which  he  had  under 
gone,  and  the  labor  called  for  more  time  than  the  circum 
stances  of  the  field  would  allow.  The  advance  of  Tarleton 
was  too  rapid  to  permit  of  his  performing  the  affectionate 
service  v/hich  he  contemplated  for  his  friend  ;  and,  before 
he  reached  the  ditch,  the  swords  of  the  legion  were  flash 
ing  before  his  eyes,  as  the  troop  wheeled  round  a  bend  in 
the  avenue  which  hitherto  had  concealed  him  from  their 
sight. 

"  Gimini !   I  must  leave  him,     I  must  put  you  down,  Air 
nest !     I  cant't  help  it,  boy  !     I  did  the  best!" 

He  spoke  to  the    insensible    youth    as  if    he  could   hear 


CAI'RIOKS    OF    TIIK    CONFLICT.  ZU",: 

and,  with  a  groan  that  seemed  to  come  from  the  bottom  of  his 
soul,  he  laid  the  body  down  in  the  ditch,  where  it  was  partially 
concealed  from  sight  in  the  hollow  and  by  the  tnf'ts  and  bushes 
which  grew  along  its  margin.  Then,  with  a  grim  look  of  de 
spair  cast  behind  him  as  he  fled,  he  leaped  across  the  ditch, 
passed  hurriedly  through  the  copse  and  bordering  foliage, 
and  soon  gained  the  station  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  which 
had  been  assigned  by  Singleton  at  the  commencement  of  tho 
fray  as  the  place  "i  prnonil  rendezvous. 


208  MKLLICIIAMI'E. 


CHAPTER   XXITi 

THE    THREATENED    SACRIFICE. 

UHAFEU  witli  tlic  excitement  of  battle,  and  mortified  with 
tl.e  humiliation  of  defeat,  Barsfield  dashed  forward  to  meet 
will)  Tarleton,  to  whom  lie  conveyed  the  particulars  of  the  af 
fray.  Tt  needed  but  few  words  to  do  this  at  such  a  moment 
—  the  scene  was  in  progress  even  then  before  the  eyes  of 
the  legionary.  The  wild  shouts  of  the  partisans,  scattered 
along  the  fields,  and  flying  from  the  greater  force  approach 
ing  them  —  the  occasional  sounds  of  the  rirle— the  lurid  glare 
of  the  flames,  ascending  in  gigantic  columns  from  the  burning 
mansion,  sufficiently  informed  the  ready  senses  of  a  "leader  so 
intelligent  and  sagacious  as  ihe  practised  Tarleton.  He  was  a 
man  of  deeds  rather  than  of  words,  and  o,  fe\v  brief,  quick 
questions  drew  from  Barsfield  all  that  he  sought  to  know. 

"  What  number  of  rifles,  Captain  Barsfield>  has  Major  Sin 
gleton  ?" 

"  Some  thirty,  sir,  or  more/' 

"  Wl.nt  other  force?" 

"  Ten  or  twenty  horse,  which  *e  had  first  broken  through, 
sir,  on  your  approach." 

"  And  from  which  our  approach  saved  you  1" 

Barsfield  bowed.  Tarlel.ou  waved  his  hand,  and  gave  his 
troop  their  orders  with  coolness  and  decision  In  the  next  mo 
ment  he  led  them  forward  with  a  fleet  paeo  clown  the  avenue, 
toward  the  burning  dwelling  and  the  park.  He  thought  to 
find  his  enemy  scattered  and  unprepared,  as  he  now  and  then 
beheld  in  the  distance,  by  the  light  of  the  flames,  an  occasional 
figure  darting  by,  seemingly  in  flight,  and  the  shouts  of  the  par 
tisans  rose  here  and  there  from  opposite  quarters  of  the  area. 


THE    THREATENED    SACRIFICE.  2^9 

The  sight  of  these  figures  and  the  insulting  shouts  stimulated 
his  advance,  and  aroused  his  natural  appetite  for  strife.  With 
habitual  impetuosity,  he  hurried  forward  in  a  quick  trot,  making 
for  the  point  which  most  immediately  promised  him  an  encoun 
ter  with  his  foe. 

He  found  them  much  sooner  than  he  had  expected.  His 
enemy  was  prepared  for  him.  Singleton  was  apprized  of  the, 
approach  of  Tarleton  quite  as  soon  as  Barsfield  in  the  avenue, 
and  he  now  prepared  to  execute  the  orders  of  Marion,  for  which 
the  present  condition  of  things  gave  him  a  favorable  opportu 
nity.  He  threw  his  men  without  the  park.  The  fences  lay  be 
tween  the  two  parties.  One  half  of  his  force  he  immediately 
iient  down  the  hill  to  prepare  the  horses,  putting  them  in  read 
iness  for  instant  flight.  His  riflemen,  who  had  been  too  late 
to  check  the  retreat  of  Barsfield,  Averc  nevertheless  just  in  time 
on  the  outer  edge  of  the  park,  and  skirting  one  side  of  the 
avenue,  Avith  its  thick  copse  interposing  sufficiently  to  protect 
them  from  a  charge  of  cavalry,  to  gall  the  advance  of  Tarle 
ton.  They  received  their  orders,  and  stood  prepared  to  exe 
cute  them.  Covered  by  the  trees,  each  man  stood  in  silence, 
prepared  to  single  out  his  enemy,  and  immediately  after  scud 
off  along  the  fences,  and  join  his  comrades  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  Cool  and  watchful,  Singleton  remained  at  hand  to  watch 
the  progress  of  both  parties.  He  himself  had  prepared  to  do 
a  like  duty  with  his  men.  He  had  thrown  aside  the  sabre,  and 
a  favorite  rifle  in  his  hands  was  quite  as  deadly  a  Aveapor  as 
iii  that  of  any  other  of  his  troop.  The  legion  came  bounding 
forward,  and  the  signal  for  their  hostile  reception  came  from 
the  rifle  of  the  partisan  commander.  It  had  its  echoes  —  each 
;n>  echo  of  death  —  and  the  advancing  column  of  Tarleton  in 
that  narrow  avenue,  reeled  and  recoiled  under  the  fatal  dis 
charge.  A  dozen  troopers  fell  from  their  saddles  with  the  fire, 
stiffening  in  the  fast  embrace  of  death,  and  scarce  conscious 
of  their  wounds.  But  in  another  instant  the  fierce  voicr  of 
Tarleton,  clamorous  and  shrill,  rose  like  that  of  a  trumpet 
above  all  other  sounds  — 

"  Scoundrels,  forward  !  Wherefore  do  ye  pause?  Through 
the  bush  to  the  right — charge,  rascals,  ere  J  cleave  ye  dowii 


*/)  the  earth  !      Charge  the  d d  rebels  —  charge  —  and  give 

no  quarter  !" 

The  ditch  was  cleared — the  obedient  troopers,  accustomed 
hitherto  only  to  victory  under    the    lead   of   Tarleton,  went 
•.ver  the  bank  and    scrambled  through  the  copse   with  more 
•I siring  than   success.      The  overhanging  branches  were  hewn 
away   in   an   instant — a  path   was  cleared    for    the    advance 
through  the  close  foliage,   and,  like  bold  cavaliers,  a.  score  of 
the   troopers   made    their  way    through    the    obstruction.     Hut 
where  was  the  enemy?     Where  were  they  whose  fatal  rifles 
had  dealt  them   so  much  loss?     They  had  melted  away  like- 
so  many   shadows — they  were  gone.      Fiercely  the  dragoons 
dealt   idle  blows  upon   the  surrounding  bushes,  which    might 
have  been  supposed   to   shelter   a  lurking  rifleman,  but   their 
sabres  clashed  together  and   found  no  foe.     The  partisans  had 
vanished  from  their  sight,  but  they  had  not  yet  gone.     While 
yet  the  dragoons  gazed  bewildered  and  in  wonderment,  the  re 
peated  shot  from  the  same  select  and  deadly  marksmen  singled 
them  out,  one  by  one,  from   another   sheltered  clump  of  wood, 
not  more  than  fifty  yards   in  advance  ;   and  the  remaining  few 
who  had  passed  into  the   open  ground  and  were  still  exposed, 
could  hear  the  distinct  commands  of  Singleton  — 
"  Another  round,  men — one  more.     Each  Iiis  man." 
The  partisan  had  managed  admirably,  but  he  was  now  com 
pelled  to  fly.     The  advantage  of  ground   was  no  longer  with 
him.     Tarleton,  with  his  entire  force,  had  now  passed  through 
the  avenue,  and  had  appeared  in  the  open  court  in  front.     The 
necessity  of  rapid   flight   now   became   apparent  to  Singleton, 
and    the  wild    lively   notes   of  his  trumpet  were   accordingly 
hoard  stirring  the  air  at  not  more  than  rifle  distance  from  the 
gathering  troop  of  Tarleton.    Bitterly  aroused  by  this  seeming 
audacity  —  an    audacity    to  which    Tarleton,   waging    a    war 
hitherto  of  continual  successes,  had  never  been  accu.stnmed, 
his  ire  grew  into  fury  -— 

"What,  men!  shall  these  rebels  carry  it  so?"  he  cried 
aloud.  "  Advance,  Captain  Barsfield — advance  to  the  right 
•  if  the  fence  with  twenty  men,  and  stop  not  to  mark  yonr 


THE    THREATENED    SACRIFICE,  211 

Advar.ee,  sir,  and   charge  forward.     You  should  know 
the  ground  by  this  time.     Away!" 

To  another  he  cried  —  striking  the  neck  of  his  steed  inrpa- 
Montly  with  the  broad  side  of  his  sabre-— 

"  Captain  Kearney,  to'  yon  wood  !  Sweep  it,  sir,  with  your 
sabres  ;  and  meet  me  in  the  rear  of  the  garden  !" 

The  officers  thus  commanded  moved  to  the  execution  of  then 
charges  with  sufficient  celerity.  The  commands  and  more 
ments  of  Major  Singleton  were  much  more  cool  and  not  loss 
prompt.  He  hurried  along  by  his  scattered  men,  as  they  lay 
here  and  there,  covered  by  this  or  that  bush  or  tree. 

"  Carry  off  no  bullets  that  you  can  spare  them,  men — fire 
as  soon  as  they  reach  the  garden,  and,  when  your  pieces  are 
clear,  take  down  the  hill  and  mount." 

Three  minutes  did  not  elapse  before  the  rifles  had  each 
poured  forth  its  treasured  death  ;  and,  without  pausing  to  be 
hold  the  effects  of  their  discharge,  each  partisan,  duly  obe 
dient,  was  on  his  way,  leaping  off  from  cover  to  cover  through 
the  thick  woods  to  the  hollow  where  their  horses  had  beer 
fastened. 

The  furious  Tarleton  meanwhile  led  the  way  through  th« 
garden,  the  palings  of  which  were  torn  away  to  give  his  cav 
alry  free  passage.  With  a  soldier's  rage,  and  the  impatience 
:>f  one  not  often  baffled,  he  hurried  forward  the  pursuit,  in  a 
line  tolerably  direct,  after  the  flying  partisans.  But  Singleton 
was  too  good  a  soldier,  and  too  familiar  with  the  ground,  to 
keep  his  men  in  mass  in  a  wild  flight  through  woods  be 
coming  denser  at  every  step.  When  they  had  reached  a  knoll 
at  some  little  distance  beyond  the  place  where  his  horses  had 
?^on  fastened,  he  addressed  his  troon  as  follows: — 

"  We  must  break  here,  my  men.  Each  man  will  take  hip 
own  path,  and  we  will  all  scatter  as  far  apart  as  possible. 
Make  your  way,  all  of  you,  for  the  swamp,  however  :  where, 
in  a  couple,  of  hours,  you  may  all  bo  safe.  Lance  .Frampton; 
you  will  ride  with  me." 

Each  trooper  knew  the  country,  and,  accustomed  to  indivir* 
oal  enterprise  and  the  duties  of  the  scout,  there  was  :i< 
hardship  to  the  men  of  Marion  in  such  a  separation.  On  all 


212  MELLTC1IAMPK. 

hands  they  glided  off,  and  at  a  far  freer  pace  than  wlier. 
they  rode  together  in  a  body.  A  thousand  tracks  they  found 
in  the  woods  about  them,  in  pursuing  which  there  was  now  no 
obstruction  —  no  justling  of  brother  horsemen  pressing  upon 
fhe  same  rente.  Singleton  and  his  youthful  companion  dart 
ed  away  at  an  easy  pace  into  the  woods,  in  which  they 
had  scarcely  shrouded  themselves  before  they  heard  the  rush 
ing  and  fierce  cries  of  Tarletoivs  dragoons. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Lance,"  said  Singleton  to  the  boy  — 
'•'  do  you  remember,  the  chase  we  had  from  the  Oaks,  when 
Proctor  pursued  us  ?" 

"Yes,  sir  —  and  a  narrow  chance  it  was  when  your  horse 
tumbled.  I  thought  they  would  have  caught  and  killed  yon 
then,  sir;  but  I  didn't  know  anything  of  fighting  in  the 
woods  then." 

"  Keep  cool,  and  there's  little  danger  anywhere/'  respond,  d 
Singleton.  "  Men  in  a  hurry  are  always  in  danger.  To  be  safe, 
be  steady.  But  —  ha  !  do  you  not  hear  them  now  ?  Some  of 
them  have  got  upon  our  track." 

"  I  do  hear  a  noise,  sir  —  there  was  a  dry  bush  that  cracked 
then." 

"  And  a  voice  —  that  was  a  shout.  Let  us  stop  for  a  rnomeir 
and  reload.  A  shot  may  be  wanted." 

Coolly  dismounting,  Singleton  proceeded  to  charge  his 
rifle,  which  had  been  slung  across  his  shoulder.  His  com 
panion  did  the  same.  While  loading,  the  former  felt,  a  slight 
pain  and  stiffness  in  his  left.  arm. 

:i  I  am  hurt.  Lance,  I  do  believe.  Look  hero  at  my  shoul 
der." 

"  There's  blood,  sir— -and  the  coat's  cut  with  a  bullet.  Tlu 
bullet's  in  your  arm,  sir." 

«  No  —  not  now.  It  has  been  there,  I  believe,  though  th  = 
wound  is  slight.  There,  now  —  mount  —  we  have  no  time  to 
see  it  now." 

"  That's  true,  sir,  for  I  hear  the  horses ;  and,  look  now,  ma- 
Sor.  there's  two  of  the  dragoons  coming  through  the  bush, 
and  straight  toward  us." 

"  Two   only  ?"  said   Singleton,  again  unslinging  h:s   rile 


TJ1E    TllJi.hA.TKNKI)    SACLiLFICK 

The  boy  readily  understood  the  movement,  and  proceeded  to 
do  likewise,  but  he  was  too  late.  The  shot  of  Singleton  was 
immediate,  and  the  foremost  trooper  fell  forward  from  his 
horse.  His  companion  fled. 

"Don't  'light,  Lance — keep  on.  There's  only  one  now,  and 
he  won't  trouble  us.  The  other  —  poor  devil  !  his  horse  was 
too  fleet  for  his  master's  safety.  Away,  sir." 

It  Avas  time  to  speed.  The  report  of  the  shot  and  the  fall 
of  the  dragoon  gave  a  direction  to  the  whole  force  of  the  pur 
suers,  whose  shouts  and  cries  might  now  be  heard  ringing  in 
all  directions  of  the  forest  behind  them. 

"  They  can't  reach  us,  Lance.  We  shall  round  that  bay  in 
a  few  seconds,  and  they  will  be  sure  to  boggle  into  it.  On, 
boy,  and  waste  no  eyesight  in  looking  behind  you.  We  are 
safe.  I  only  hope  that  all  our  boys  are  as  much  so.  But  I  fear 
that  we  have  lost  some  fine  fellows.  Poor  Mellichampe  !  but 
it  is  too  late  now.  Push  on  —  the  bay  is  before  us." 

Thus  speaking,  guiding  and  encouraging  the  boy,  the  fear 
less  partisan  kept  on.  In  a  few  minutes  they  had  rounded  the 
thick  bay,  and  were  deeply  sheltered  in  a  dense  wood,  well 
known  at  that  period  by  a  romantic  title,  which  doubtless  had 
its  story. 

"My  Lady's  Fancy.  We  are  safe  now,  Lance,  and  a  little 
rest  will  do  no  harm." 

The  partisan,  as  he  spoke,  drew  up  his  horse,  threw  himself 
from  his  back,  fastened  him  to  a  hanging  branch,  and,  passing 
down  to  a  hollow  where  a  little  brooklet  ran  trickling  along 
with  a  gentle  murmur,  drank  deeply  of  its  sweet  and  quiet 
waters,  which  he  scooped  up  with  a  calabash  that  hung  on  a 
bough,  waving  in  the  breeze  above.  Then  tin-owing  himself 
down  under  the  shadow  of  the  tree,  he  lay  as  quietly  as  if 
there  had  been  no  danger  tracking  his  footsteps,  and  no  deadly 
enemy  still  prowling  in  the  neighborhood  and  hungering  for 
his  blood. 

The  chase  was  given  over,  and  the  lively  tones  of  the  bugle 
recalled  the  pursuers.  The  legionary  colonel  stood  upon  a 
hillock,  awaiting  the  return  of  the  men,  who  came  in  slowly 
and  half  exhausted  from  the  profitless  pursuit.  He  wiped 


the  dust  and  sweat  from  his  brow,  b-.it  a  rigid  and  deep  blue 
vein  lay  like  a  cord  across  bis  forehead.  A  gloomy  ob»ud 
hung  about  bis  eyes,  and  yet  bis  lips,  pale,  and  seemingly 
passionless,  were  parted  with  a  smile.  They  quivered  slightly, 
and  the  tips  of  his  white  teeth  rested  upon  the  lower  lip  for 
a  moment,  as  if  to  control  his  speech,  when  he  beheld  the 
person  of  the  tory  captain  among  those  approaclm  g  him. 

"  And  now,  what  of  this  affair,  Captain  Barsficld  ?  We  have 
time  now  to  speak  of  it,"  was  the  salutation  of  Tarleton  ; 
and  be  alighted  from  his  steed  as  he  spoke,  and  the  point 
of  his  sabre  was  made  to  revolve  quickly,  while  be  lis 
tened  upon  the  np-curling  peak  of  his  thick  military  boot. 
Barsficld  briefly  narrated  the  events  which  we  have  wit  Q 
nessed,  and,  saving  some  little  natural  exaggeration  of  the 
numbers  on  the  side  of  the  partisans,  with  tolerable  correct 
ness.  The  narrative,  as  he  listened,  did  not  seem  to  diminish 
the  disquiet  of  his  hearer. 

"  But  fifty  men,  you  say  ?  the  entire  force  of  the  rebels 
but,  fifty  men  !  and  your  force,  if  I  err  not,  thirty  at  the 
least.  But  fifty  men  !" 

"  There  may  have  been  ;  indeed,  sir,  there  must  have  been 
—  more;  and — " 

"Abaci  business,  sir;  a  very  bad  business,  Captain  Bars- 
field,"  said  the  other  interrupting  him.  "  The  affair  has  not 
been  rightly  managed,  though  where  the  defect  lay  may  not 
now  be  said.  What  force  was  it  you  encountered  in  the 
morning  ?" 

"  A  squad  of  thirty,  sir,  and  more.  I  had  defeated  them, 
and  they  would  have  been  cut  to  pieces,  but  for  the  sudden 
appearance  of  the  troop  of  Major  Singleton,  which  you  have 
just  dispersed." 

"  No  more,  sir;  no  more.  Take  your  men,  and  examine  the 
ground  and  the  avenue.  Sec  to  the  wounded  prisoners,  Cap 
tain  Barsfield  ;  have  them  w°,ll  secured,  and  ascertain  the  ex 
tent  of  your  own  loss.  There  must  be  an  inquiry  into  this 
business  quickly.  Move,  sir  —  we  have  no  time  to  lose." 

The  blood  mounted  into  the  tory's  cheek  as  be  listened  to 
these  orders  ;  the  fire  of  intense  satisfaction  glared  and  gath- 


Till-:    THKLATKIx'Kl      >. \CRIKICE.  215 

ered  in  his  eye,  and,  fearful  that  his  feeling  would  be  seen 
by  the  piercing  glance  of  Tarleton,  he  turned  away  instantly 
in  the  execution  of  his  orders.  A  fierce  hope  of  vengeance, 
yet  to  be  satisfied,  was  at  his  heart.  He  had  not  forgotten  that 
his  mortal  enemy  lay  wo.unded  on  that  field.  He  knew  that 
although  wounded,  Mellichampe  was  yet  alive.  The  command 
to  scour  the  scene  of  conflict  was  precisely  the  command  which 
lie  most  desired;  affording  him,  as  it  did,  an  opportunity  of 
making  certain  the  stroke  which  even  in  the  hurry  of  battle,  he 
had  considered  incomplete.  A  fierce  emotion  of  delight,  under 
which  he  trembled,  seized  upon  his  frame  as  he  heard  the  com 
mand;  and,  bowing  with  ill-concealed  satisfaction  to  his  supe 
rior,  lie  hurried  away  with  all  the  rapidity  of  a  newly-stimu 
lated  passion,  not  merely  to  the  execution  of  his  orders,  bul 
to  the  final  consummation  of  his  own  bloody  scheme  of  ven 
geance —  the  death  of  that  hated  rival,  in  the  pursuit  of 
which  he  had  been  so  often  baffled  when  most  sanguine  of  suc 
cess.  The  knife  was  now  in  his  hand,  however,  and  th<s  devoted 
victim  lay  before  him. 


MSLLICHAMPE 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

6KKTCU&3    <>*<    TliK    STRIFE. 

LET  us  retraca  our  steps ;  le*  us  go  back  in  our  narrative, 
and  review  tli3  feelings  an  I  the  fortunes  of  other  parties  to  our 
story,  not  less  important  in  its  details,  and  quite  as  dear  in  o;u 
regards.  Let  us  seek  the  teir^Grary  dwelling  of  the  Berkeley 
family,  and  contemplate  tlu  condition  and  the  employment,  of 
its  inmates  during  the  progress  of  the  severe  strife  of  which 
we  have  given  a  partial  history.  Its  terrors  were  not  less 
imposing  to  them  than  they  were  to  those  who  had  been  actors 
in  the  conflict.  To  the  young  maidens,  indeed,  it  certainly 
was  far  more  terrible  than  to  the  brave  men,  warmed  with  the 
provocation  and  reckless  from  the  impulses  of  strife.  And 
yet,  how  differently  did  the  events  of  the  day  affect  the  two 
maidens  —  how  forcibly  did  they  bring  out  and  illustrate  their 
very  different  characters  !  To  the  casual  observer,  there  was 
very  little  change  in  the  demeanor  of  Janet  Berkeley,  She 
seemed  the  same  subdued,  sad,  yet  enduring  and  uncomplain 
ing  creature,  looking  for  affliction  because  she  had  been  so 
often  subjected  to  its  pressure;  yet,  from  that  very  cause, 
looking  for  it  without  apprehension,  and  in  all  the  strength  of 
religious  resignation. 

Not  so  with  her  more  volatile  companion.  The  terrors  of 
the  fight,  so  near  at  hand,  so  novel  in  its  forms,  and  so  fearful 
to  one  who  never,  till  now,  had  associated  it  in  her  thought 
with  any  other  features  than  those  of  old  romance — where 
the  gorgeousness  and  the  glitter,  the  cheering  music  and  the 
proud  array,  were  contrived  to  conceal  the  danger,  if  not  to 
salve  the  hurts  —  brought  to  her  other  and  more  paralyzing  sen 
sations.  All  her  levity  departed  with  the  approach  and 'pros* 


SKETCHES    OF    TUK    STIilFI-;.  217 

ence  of  the  reality,  of  which,  hitherto,  she  had  but  dreamed, 
and  the  images  of  which,  seen  through  the  medium  of  her 
imagination  and  not  her  heart,  had  until  now  presented  her 
with  no  other  forms  than  those  of  loveliness  or  power.  The 
^rst  Jjead  sounds  of  battle,  the  first  crash  and  commotion  of 
the  conflict,  taught  her  other  feelings;  and,  with  each  reiter 
ated  shout  or  groan,  her  emotion  increased  to  a  passion  of  fear 
that  became  painful  even  to  her  companion — herself  full  of 
the  warmest  apprehensions  for  her  lover's  safety,  and  laboring 
under  a  true  sense  of.  the  growing  and  gathering  miseries 
around  her.  But  it  is  at  such  a  moment  that  the  true  nature 
of  the  mind  —  the  true  strength  of  the  heart  —  the  spirit,  and 
the  soul,  and  the  affections,  rise  into  impressive  and  control 
ling  action.  It  was  then  that  the  majesty  of  a  devoted  woman, 
conscious  of  all  the  danger,  yet  not  unprepared  to  meet  it  with 
him  to  whom  her  heart  was  given,  shone  forth  in  the  beaiing 
of  Janet  Berkeley. 

The  light,  thoughtless  heart  of  Rose  Duncan,  untutored  and 
unimpressed  as  yet  by  any  of  the  vicissitudes  of  life,  had  few 
moods  but  what  were  hurrying  and  of  a  transient  nature,.  She 
was  unprepared  for  any  but  passing  impressions.  Her  fancy 
had  been  active  always,  and  her  heart,  in  consequence,  had 
grown  subordinate.  Affliction,  the  snbduer,  the  modifier  — 
she  who  checks  passion  in  its  tumults,  and  tempers  to  sedate- 
ness  the  warm  feelings  which  would  sometimes  mount  into 
madness  —  had  brought  her  no  sober  counsels.  Small  but  ac 
cumulating  cares,  which  benefit  by  their  frequent  warnings, 
had  never  taught  her  to  meditate  much  or  often  upon  the 
various  sorrows  and  the  many  changes,  as  frequent  in  the 
moral  atmosphere  as  in  the  natural,  which  belong  to  life. 
That  grave  tale-bearer  Time,  whoso  legends  are  nevt>r  want 
ing  in  their  moral  to  those  who  read,  had  taken  no  heed  of 
her  education.  That  stern  strcngthener  and  impelling  mis 
tress,  Necessity,  had  never,  in  order  to  bring  out  its  resources, 
subjected  each  feeling  of  her  heart  to  bondage,  putting  a  curb 
upon  the  capricious  emotion  and  the  buoyant  fancy.  She 
heard  of  care  from  books,  which  seldom  describe  it  in  its  true 
features,  but  it  was  only  to  regard  it  as  a  something  which  is 


218  MKI.UCIIAMPK. 

to  give  a  zest  to  pleasure  by  sometimes  changing  its  aspect; 
as  in  conserves  we  employ  a  slight -bitter,  in  order  to  relieve 
pleasantly  the  cloying  insipidity  of  their  sweet.  She  had 
never  yet  seen  in  Sorrow  the  twin-sister  of  Humanity,  born 
with  it  at  its  birth,  keeping  due  pace  with  it,  though  pcvl-ap" 
unseen,  in  its  progress  through  the  flowery  places  as  v.ril  a* 
through  the  tangled  wilderness  ;,  clinging  to  it,  inseparably, 
through  all  its  fortunes;  clouding,  at  times,  its  most  pleasant 
sunshine  with  a  look  of  reproof;  chiding  its  sweetest  anticipa 
tions  with  the  language  of  homily;  and  pressing  it  downward, 
at  last,  to  the  embrace  of  their  common  mother  Earth,  until 
even  Ilope  takes  its  flight,  yielding  the  struggle  for  the  .pres 
ent,  and  possibly  withholding  its  assurance  from  the  future. 

Thus,  utterly  uneducated  by  the  heart's  best  tutors,  the 
novel  terrors  'now  before  her  eyes  left  her  entirely  without 
support  in  reflection.  She  was  convulsed  with  apprehension  ; 
the  fierce  oaths  of  the  hurrying  troops  grated  with  a  new  form 
of  danger  upon  her  fancy;  every  wild  shout  smote  painfully 
upon  her  senses;  and  the  sharp  shot,  directed,  as  she  now 
knew  it  to  be,  against  the  bosom  of  a  feeling  and  a  living  man 
while  teaching  her  properly  to  realize  the  truth,  totally  un 
nerved  and  left  her  powerless.  She  shrank  upon  the  floor  in 
her  terrors,  as  the  dreadful  din  came  to  her  ears,  and  crawled 
to  the  window,  where  her  cousin  sat  in  speechless  apprehen 
sion.  There,  like  a  frightened  child,  she  sat  clinging  to  the 
drapery  of  Janet,  while  continued  sobs  and  momentary  excla 
mations  betrayed  her  new  consciousness  of  danger,  and  her  own 
inadequacy  of  strength  to  contend  with  it. 

How  different  was  the  deportment  of  Janet!  How  subdued 
her  grief — how  unobtrusive  her  emotions  —  how  sustained  her 
spirit— Jiow  governing  her  reason  !  She  shrunk  not  from  the 
contemplation  of  that  danger  whose  terrors  her  mind  had  loi.g 
since  been  taught  to  contemplate  at  a  distance.  Drawing  her 
chair  beside  a  little  window,  which  looked  forth  directly  upon 
the  scene  of  battle,  and  scarcely  in  perfect  security  from  its 
random  shot,  she  gazed  upon  the  progress  of 'events,  and  exhib 
ited  in  comparison  with  Rose,  who  sat  upon  the  iloor  and  saw- 
nothing,  but  little  consciousness,  and  certainly  no  fears,  of  its 


awful  terrors.  Yet  her  emotions  were  not  less  active,  lier  feel 
ings  not  less  susceptible  and  warm,  than  those  of  her  com 
panion.  It  was,  indeed,  because  her  consciousness  was  so 
deep,  her  love  so  abiding,  her  fears  so  thick  and  overflowing, 
that  she  had  no  audible,  emotions.  The  waters  of  her  heart 
were  too  far  down  for  display  ;  it  is  only  in  the  shallows  that 
the  Ireakers  leap  up,  and  chafe,  and  murmur.  They  speak 
not  for  themselves,  but  for  the  overfull  and  heaving  ocean  that 
gathers  and  settles,  gloomily  and  great,  in  the  distance.  The 
clamor  of  her  cousin's  fear  had  spoken  for  hers;  and  yet  how 
full  of  voice,  how  touching  the  language  of  silence,  when  we 
know  that  the  full  heart  is  running  over.  How  thrilling  is  the 
brief,  gasping,  sudden  exclamation,  which  utters  all,  because 
we  feel  that  it  has  uttered  nothing! 

She  sat  with  her  hands  clasped  ;  her  soul  sad  and  sick,  but 
strong;  her  eyes  intently  gazing,  as  if  they  would  burst  from 
their  sockets,  upon  the  wild  scene  of  confusion  going  on  around 
her.  And  when  the  strife  began  warmly  in  the  first  stage, 
and  before  the  house  was  fired  —  when  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  progress  of  events,  and  heard  nothing  but  the  sharp  and 
frequent  shot,  without  knowing  what  had  been  its  effect;  when 
the  shriek  of  agony  reached  her  ears  faintly  from  afar,  and 
there  came  no  word  to  her  to  say  that  the  wounded  victim  was 
not  the  one,  of  all  in  that  controversy,  to  whom  her  thought 
and.  her  prayer  were  most  entirely  given  —  it  was  then  that 
she  felt  the  agony  which  yet  she  did  not  speak.  In  her  mind 
she  strove  to  think  a  prayer  for  his  success  and  for  his  safety, 
and  sometimes  the  words  of  aspiration  were  muttered  brokenly 
from  her  lips;  but  the  prayer  died  away  in  her  heart,  and  the 
dreadful  incidents  of  earth  going  on  around  her  kept  back  her 
thoughts  from  God. 

A  terrible  cry  of  satisfaction  was  uttered  by  the  partisans, 
as  in  the  conflict  they  beheld  one  of  the  defenders  of  the 
house  distinctly  fall  back  from  the  window  at  which  he  had 
exposed  himself.  The  rifle  had  been  too  quick  and  fatal  for 
his  escape.  The  sound  smote  upon  the  senses  of  Janet  with  a 
new  fear;  and  Rose,  in  her  childish  terror,  nearly  dragged  hei 
from  the  seat 


MKLLICHAMPE. 

"Father  of  mercies,  spare  him!  spare  them  all!  Soften 
their  hearts  —  let  them  not  spill  blood!"  was  the  involuntary 
prayer  of  Janet.  "Rose,  do  not  go  on  so;  do  not  fear;  you 
are  not  in  danger,  dear  Hose:  but  keep  on  the  floor;  the  shot 
can  not  reach  you  there." 

"  But  you,  Janet  —  you  are  in  danger  at  the  window  :  conn 
down,  dear  Janet,  and  sit  with  me.  The  bullets  will  be  sure 
to  hit  you.  Comedown.  I 'm  so  afraid." 

"Pull  rne  not  down,  Rose;  there  is  no  danger  here,  for  the 
shot  do  not  fly  in  this  direction.  They  fly  all  toward  the 
garden,  where  our  people  are,  under  the  trees." 

"  Where  ?  do  you  see  them,  Janet  ?"  cried  Rose,  half  rising. 

"Yes;  hush  —  there!"  But  a  cry  and  a  shot  at  that  mo 
ment  frightened  the  other  to  her  place  upon  the  floor,  and 
she  sank  down  with  renewed  trepidation. 

"  I  see  them  now,  all  of  them  :  some  stand  behind  the  water- 
oaks;  and  I  see  two  crawling  along  under  the  bushes.  God 
preserve  them  !  Should  Barsfield  know  they  are  there,  he 
could  kill  them,  for  there  are  no  trees  between  them  and  the 
house  —  nothing  but  the  bushes.  Oh  God  !" 

The  exclamation  startled  Rose  with  a  new  terror 

"What,  Janet?" 

"I  see  him!  Rash  Mellichampe  !  I  see  him,  and  he  is 
mounted.  The  torics  must  see  him  too.  Why  !  oh,  why  will  he 
expose  himself!  why  does  he  not  keep  behind  the  trees!  Jle 
stands  —  he  does  not  move.  Barsfield  must  soon  see  him  now. 
^b'»  %'  Ernest!"  and,  her  emotion  assuming  the  ascendency, 
she  arose  from  her  chair,  and  motioned  with  her  hand,  and 
cried  with  her  voice,  now  feeble  and  husky  from  affright,  as  it' 
he  to  whom  it  was  addressed  could  hear  it  at  such  a  distance 

"He  hears  me  —  he  moves  away.  Oh,  dear  Ernest !  lie  is 
now  behind  the  trees.  Thank  God.be  is  safe!"  and  she  sank 
again  into  her  seat,  and  fondly  believed,  at  that  moment,  that 
he  had  heard  her  warnings  and  complied  with  her  entreaties 
There  was  a  pause  in  the  conflict  Neither  shot  nor  shout 
came  to  their  senses. 

"Is  it  over,  Janet  ?"  cried  Rose.  "Have  they  done  fight 
ing?  I  hear  nothing.  There  is  no  danger  now." 


SKETCHES    OF   THE    STRIFE.  ^ 

"  Would  it  were  over,  Rose  ;  but  I  fear  it  is  not.  I  see  the 
men  watching  behind  the  trees.  Some  arc  riding  away,  and 
nome  are  creeping  still  around  the  fence.  It  blinds  me  to 
look;  it  maddens  me  to  think,  Rose,  that  he  is  there,  exposed 
to  the  murderous  aim  of  those  merciless  tories,  in  the  danger 
which  I  may  not  keep  him  from,  which  I  do  not  share  with 
lii in.  Pray,  Rose  —  pray,  dearest,  for  the  safety  of  our  men. 
Pray,  for  I  can  not.  I  can  only  look." 

"Nor  I.  But  how  can  you  look?  The  very  thought  of  it 
is  too  horrible." 

"The  thought  of  it  to  me  is  more  dreadful  than  the  sight," 
was  the  answer  of  Janet.  "Months  have  gone  by,  Rose,  since 
I  first  began  to  think  of  battle  and  of  Mellichampe's  hourly 
danger  ;  and  when  I  thought  of  it  then,  it  was  far  more  terrible 
than  now,  when  I  look  upon  it  before  me.  But  oh,  dearest 
Rose,  how  awful  is  that  silence!  There  is  no  shouting;  there 
are  no  cries  of  blood  and  death,  and  yet  they  are  planning 
death.  They  are  meditating  how  best  to  succeed  in  slaughter 
ing  their  fellow-creatures." 

"Do  you  see  them  now,  Janet?" 

"Yes,  there,  behind  the  trees.  Look  now,  Rose.  There  is 
now  no  danger,  I  think." 

The  more  timid  girl  rose  to  survey  the  distant  array,  which 
she  did  with  all  the  eager  curiosity  of  childhood.  The  bugle 
sounded. 

"Ah,  Rose,  they  are  in  council.  See  them  under  the  great 
pak,  yonder,  to  the  left  —  there,  close  by  the  stunted  cedar?" 

"I  see,  I  see.  How  their  swords  glitter,  Janet.  II ow 
beautiful,  how  strange  !  And  that  trumpet,  how  shrilly  sweet, 
how  strong  and  wild  its  notes,  seeming  like  the  cry  of  some 
mighty  bird  as  it  rushes  through  the  storm.  Oh,  Janet,  what 
a  beautiful  thing  is  war  !" 

"  So  is  death,  sometimes.  Beautiful,  but  terrible.  Alas  that 
man  should  seek  to  make  crime  lovely  !  Alas  that  woman 
should  so  admire  power  and  courage  as  to  forget  the  cruelties 
in  their  frequent  employ.  God  keep  us!  they  are  going  to 
fight  again." 

With  a  scream  Rose  sank  again  to  the  floov,  grasping  the 


222 


MELLICHAMPK. 


dress  of  her  companion,  and  clinging  to  it  with  all  the  trepida 
tion  of  childhood. 

"Ah  !  they  lift  their  rifles.  I  see  three'of  them  tluit  kiu'el 
behind  the  trees,  and  they  have  their  aim  upon  something,  i.ui 
what  I  can  not  see.  What  is  it  they  would  shoot?  They  are 
pointed  to  the  house,  too.  I  see  now  :  two  of  the  tories  are  at 
>ne  window.  God  help  them,  why  do  they  not  hide  them 
selves?" 

"  Are  they  gone  now,  Janet  ?"  asked  Rose  in  the  momei.tarv 
silence  of  her  companion. 

"  I  know  not ;  I  can  not  look  again.  Ha  !  the  shot  !  the 
shot !  the  rifles  !  They  are  slain  !" 

The  sharp,  sudden  sound  of  the  rifles  followed  almost  in 
stantly  the  inquiry  of  Rose  Duncan,  and  the  eyes  of  Janet 
instantly  turned,  as  under  some  fascination,  toward  the  win 
dow.  The  troopers  were  no  longer  to  be  seen.  Shuddering 
as  with  convulsion,  she  turned  from  the  window  and  sank 
down  beside  her  more  timid  companion.  But  her  heart  was 
too -full  of  anxiety  to  suffer  her  to  remain  long  where  she  had 
fallen.  The  sounds  again  ceased,  and  she  ventured  to  rise 
once  more  and  look  forth  upon  the  prospect,  She  now  saw  the 
scene  more  distinctly.  The  partisans  had  somewhat  changed 
their  position,  and  were  now  nearer  the  cottage.  Singleton 
stood  beneath  a  tree,  with  several  of  his  officers  about  him. 
The  quick  eye  of  Janet  readily  distinguished  her  lover  amoii«- 
them.  HP  stood  erect,  graceful,  and  firm  as  ever,  and  she  for 
got  her  fears,  her  sorrows  :  he  was  unhurt.  While  she  looked, 
they  moved  away  from  the  spot,  and  she  now  beheld  them 
making  a  circuit  round  the  park  so  as  to  avoid  unnecessary 
exposure  to  th*  tory  bullets,  and  approaching  the  little  cottage 
in  which  the  family  found  shelter. 

"Heavens!  Rose,  they  are  coming  here  —  the  officers. 
What  can  they  want?  There  may  be  some  one  hurt.  Vet 
no,  it  does  not  look  so." 

"  Then  the  fighting  is  over,  Janet." 

"  No,  no,  I  fear  not,  for  I  see  the  riflemen  all  around  the 
house,  and  watching  it  closely  from  beneath  the  trees,  Tint 
here  they  come,  the  officers,  and  he  is  among1  them.  (J 


o, 


SKK'ICHKS    OF    T1IK    STRIFK. 

dearest,  and  send  my  father  to  meet  them.      L  cnn  not.     I  will 
rather  sit  here  and  wait  until  they  are  gone." 

The  partisans  sought  the  house  the  better  to  carry  on 
the.ir  deliberations.  They  obtained  some  refreshments  from 
Mr.  Berkeley,  and  then  proceeded  to  confer  on  the  subject  of 
the  leaguer.  We  have  seen  the  result  of  their  deliberations, 
in  the  gift  which  Janet  had  made  to  her  lover  of  the  bow  ;iu<! 
arrows.  It  will  not  need  that  we  dwell  longer  upon  the 
Lflt  us  proceed  to  others,  in  which  she  also  had  a  share. 


e  v  <  >  i , ' 


MKLLICHAJflPE 


CHAPTER  XXV 

• 

THE    COURAGE    OF    LOV1. 

TmiorflHOUT  the  conflict,  a  close  and  deeply  interested 
observer,  Janet  Berkeley  had  never  once  departed  from  her 
post  of  watch.  She  had  felt  all  the  sickness  —  the  dreadful 
sickness  —  of  suspense.  She  suffered  all  the  terrors  of  one 
anxious  in  the  last  degree  about  the  result  of  the  battle,  yet 
perfectly  conscious  of  its  thousand  uncertainties.  The  wild 
And  various  cries  of  the  warriors  —  now  of  triumph  and  now  of 
defeat,  or  physical  agony  —  went  chillingly  to  her  heart;  yet, 
the  sentinel  of  love,  jealous  of  her  watch,  and  solicitous  of  the 
safety  of  that  over  which  it  was  held,  she  kept  her  place,  in 
spite  of  all  the  solicitations  of  Rose  and  of  her  equally  appre 
hensive  father.  She  did  not  seem  conscious  of  her  own  danger 
while  she  continued  to  think  of  that  of  Mellichampe  ;  and,  so 
long  as  the  battle  lasted,  could  she  think  of  anything  else? 
She  did  not. 

We  have  seen  the  patriotic  resolution  with  which  she  de 
voted  the  family  mansion  to  destruction.  She  had  beheld  the 
application  of  the  torch  —  she  had  seen  the  arrow  winged  with 
flame  smiting  the  sacred  roof  which  had  sheltered  so  many 
generations,  and  with  that  glorious  spirit  which  so  elevated 
the  maidens  of  Carolina  during  the  long  struggle  of  the  revo 
lution —  making  them  rather  objects  of  national  than  of  social 
contemplation  —  she  had  felt  a  triumphant  glow  of  self-gratu- 
lation  that  it  had  been  with  her  to  contribute  to  a  cause  doubly 
sacred,  as  it  involved  the  life  of  her  country  not  less  than  that 
of  her  lover.  With  hands  clasped  and  tearful  eyes,  she  had 
prayed  as  fervently  for  the  conflagration  of  the  dwelling  as,  at 


THE    COURAGE   OF   LOVE.  225 

another  time  and  other  more  favorable  auspices,  she  would 
have  prayed  and  labored  for  its  preservation  and  safety. 

With  an  intensity  of  feeling  not  surpassed  by  that  of  any 
one  of  the  "brave  men  commingling  in  the  strife,  she  had  be 
held  the  progress  of  the  flame.  How  her  heart  beat  when, 
more  remote  from  the  smoky  cloud  which  hung  all  around  the 
dwelling,  she  had  seen,  sooner  than  the  partisans,  the  impet 
uous  rush  —  mounted  all,  and  with  blazing  weapons — of  Bars- 
field  arid  his  party  !  But  when  she  heard  the  clash  of  sabres 
in  front  of  the  dwelling,  and  in  the  narrow  avenue  which  led 
to  it,  when  she  listened  to  the  sounds  of  that  conflict  which  she 
could  no  longer  see,  it  was  then  that  her  spirit  sickened  most. 
Imagination  —  the  feverish  fancy  —  grew  active  and  impatient. 
Crowding  fears  came  gathering  about  her  heart,  which  grew 
cold  under  their  influence.  Her  head  swam  tlizzily,  until  at 
length,  in  utter  exhaustion,  she  sank  from  the  seat  at  the 
window,  and  strove  feebly,  on  bended  knees,  by  the  side  of 
the  trembling  Rose,  once  more  to  pray.  But  she  could  not : 
the  words  refused  to  come  to  her  lips;  the  thoughts  of  her 
mind  were  too  wild,  too  foreign,  and  not  to  be  coerced  ;  they 
were  in  the  field  of  battle  —  striving  in  its  strife  —  in  the  cruel 
strife  of  man  with  man.  How  could  she  bring  her  mind,  thus 
employed,  and  at  such  a  moment,  with  all  its  horrid  and  un 
holy  associations  of  crime  and  terror,  even  for  the  purposes  of 
supplication,  into  the  presence  of  her  God?  She  dared  not. 

She  started  from  her  knees  as  she  heard  the  tread  of  hurry 
ing  feet  around  the  dwelling.  She  reached  the  window  in 
time  to  see  that  four  of  the  partisans  were  employed  in  bearing 
one  in  their  arms,  who  seemed  dead  or  fatally  wounded. 
They  laid  him  down  under  the  shelter  of  some  trees  behind 
the  house,  and  the  moment  after  she  saw  them  hurrying  back 
to  the  avenue.  She  tried  to  call  to  them,  she  sought  to  know 
who  was  the  wounded  man  ;  but  the  words  died  away  in  inar 
ticulate  sounds.  She  could  not  speak;  and,  in  an  instant, 
they  were  out  of  sight.  Her  agony  became  insupportable. 
Who  was  the  victim  ?  Her  fears,  her  imagination,  answered. 
She  watched  her  time,  during  the  momentary  inattention  of 
her  father,  and,  without  declaring  her  intention  to  Rose,  she 


226  MELLICIIAMPK. 

stole  out  of  the  apartment.  She  hurried  from  the-  house  un 
seen.  She  readied  the  tree  under  which  the  dead  body  had 
been  laid.  It  was  covered  with  a  cloak,  which  was  stained 
with  blood,  apparently  still  flowing  from  the  bosom  of  the 
wounded  man.  She  dared  not  lift  the  garment.  Her  hand 
was  extended,  but  trembled  feebly  above  it.  But  she  heard 
approaching  voices,  and  was  nerved  for  the  occasion.  She 
hastily  threw  the  cloak  from  the  face,  and  once  more  she 
breathed  freely:  the  features  were  unknown  —  happily  un 
known.  There  was  none  to  feel  the  loss  while  bending  over 
him  ;  and  she  rejoiced,  with  a  sad  pleasure,  that  the  loss  was 
not  hers. 

She  hurried  back  with  a  new  life  to  the  apartment,  and  had 
scarcely  reached  it  when  she  heard  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  borne 
upon  the  winds  from  a  direction  opposite,  and  beyond,  that  in 
which  the  combatants  had  been  engaged.  A  new  enemy  was 
at  hand.  The  shrill  and  inspiriting  notes  approached  rapidly, 
swelling  more  and  more  loudly  until  the  avenue  was  gained, 
and  then  there  was  a  pause  —  a  dreadful  silence  —  among 
those  who  had  lately  been  so  fearfully  at  strife.  In  a  few 
moments  after,  and  she  saw  Major  Singleton  rush  toward  her, 
followed  by  several  of  his  men.  She  heard  his  orders  dis 
tinctly,  and  they  brought  a  new  terror  to  her  soul. 

"  Forward,  John  Davis,  with  a  dozen  rifles,  and  bring  off 
Mellichampe  :  that  bugle  is  Tarleton's,  and  the  whole  of  the 
mounted  men  of  the  legion  are  upon  him.  Give  the  advance 
a  close  fire,  and  that  will  relieve  him  ;  then  fall  back  behind 
those  bays  —  reload,  and  renew  your  fire.  That  done,  take  to 
the  branch,  and  stand  prepared  to  mount.  Away  !" 

They  obeyed  him  promptly,  stole  up  behind  the  copse,  and 
received  the  advance  of  Tarleton  with  a  fire  as  of  one  man. 
We  have  seen  the  result:  the  enemy  leaped  the  ditch,  broke 
through  the  copse,  and  found  no  foe.  But  the  purposed  relief 
of  Mellichampe  came  too  late  to  bring  off  the  brave  youth  for 
whose  succor  it  had  been  intended.  The  personal  effort  of 
Witherspoon  had  failed  also.  That  faithful  attendant  had 
barely  crossed  the  ditch  when  the  riflemen  came  forward 
Having  no  rifle,  he  could  not  contribute  to  their  strength  ;  and, 


THE    COURAGE    OP    LOVK.  J&J 

with  a  word,  pointing  out  to  them  a  proper  cover,  he  hurried 
forward  with  all  despatch  to  the  place  of  rendezvous.  But, 
though  h<?  strove  to  avoid  being  seen  by  any  of  the  household 
while  passing,  as  he  was  compelled  to  do,  the  little  cottage  in 
which  the  Berkeley  family  were  collected,  he  could  not  escape* 
the  quick,  apprehensive  eye  of  Janet.  She  saw  him  approach 
ing,  she  saw  that  he  was  seeking  safety  in  flight,  and,  what 
was  of  more  appalling  concern  to  her,  knowing  his  attachment 
to  Mellichampe,  she  saw  that  he  fled  alone,  llou'  quick,  how 
far-darting,  is  the  eye  of  apprehension  !  She  could  read  the 
expression  of  his  countenance  as  he  approached,  even  as  a 
book.  She  saw  the  question  answered  in  his  face  which  her 
lips  had  yet  not  asked.  How  slowly  did  he  approach  :  she 
rose  —  her  hand  was  lifted  and  waved  to  him;  but,  when  lie 
looked  toward  her,  he  increased  his  speed.  She  cried  aloud 
to  him  in  her  desperation  : — 

"Come  to  me,  John  Witherspoon  —  come  to  me,  if  you  have 
pity  —  but  for  one  moment!" 

Did  he  hear  her  ?  lie  did  not  answer;  but,  as  if  he  guess 
ed  her  meaning  from  her  action,  he  flung  up  his  arms  in  air,  as 
if  to  say,  "Despair,  despair  !  —  all's  lo-st  !" — for  so  her  heart 
interpreted  his  action  —  and  in  another  instant  he  was  out  of 
sight.  The  riflemen  followed  soon  behind  him,  stealing  from 
cover  to  cover  in  the  neighboring  foliage,  and  had  scarcely 
been  hidden  from  her  gaze  before  the  fierce  troopers  of  Tarle- 
ton  came  bounding  after  them.  Vainly  did  her  eyes  strain  in 
the  examination  of  the  forms  of  those  who  fled  ;  she  saw  not 
the  one  of  all  —  he  whom  alone  she  sought  for  ;  ami  the  fear 
of  his  fate  grew  into  absolute  certainty  when  the  blue  uniforms 
of  the  terrible  legion  came  out  on  every  hand  before  her.  She 
saw  them  hurrying  fast  and  far  after  the  flying  partisans,  and 
every  blast  of  the  trumpet,  as  it  died  away  in  the  distance, 
brought  a  new  pang  into  her  mind,  until  the  agony  became  in 
supportable.  She  determined  to  suffer  no  longer  under  tho 
gnawing  suspense  which  clamored  at  her  heart. 

"  I  will  know  the  worst:  I  cannot  bear  this  agony,  and 
live  !" 

Thus  murmuring,  she  started  from  her  place  by  the  window 


228  MKLLICHAMPK. 

ai  d  turned  to  the  feeble  Rose,  who  still  lay  upon  the  floor  at 
her  feet,  in  a  degree  of  mental  and  physical  prostration  full  as 
great,  even  now,  as  at  the  first  moment  in  which  the  baUlo 
joined. 

{t  Rose,  dear  Rose,  will  you  go  with  me  ?" 

'•  Where,  go  where,  Janet?     You  frighten  me  !" 

"  There  is  no  danger  now.  Go  with  me,  Rose,  dear  cousin, 
let  me  not  go  alone." 

"  But  tell  me  where,  dearest  Janet  ?  Where  would  you 
go?  and  you  look  so  strange  and  wild;  put  up  your  hair, 
Janet." 

"No  —  no  —  no  matter.  It  is  no  time.  I  must  go,  I  must 
seek  him,  Rose,  and  I  would  not  go  alone.  Come  with  me, 
dearest,  my  sister,  come  with  me.  Believe  me.  there  can 
he  no  danger  —  only  to  the  avenue." 

"What,  where  they've  hecn  fighting,  and  in  all  that  horrid 
blood  ?"  cried  the  other,  in  a  voice  that  was  a  shriek. 

"Even  there — where  there  is  blood  —  where  —  oh,  God  be 
with  me !  where  there  must  be  death.  I  go  to  seek  for  it, 
Rose,  though,  I  would  not  find  it  if  I  could,"  solemnly,  and 
with  clasped  and  uplifted  hands,  responded  the  devoted  maiden. 

"  Never,  never,"  cried  the  other. 

"  Rose,  dear  Rose,  will  you  let  me  go  alone?  I  beg  you, 
Rose,  on  my  knees,  there  is  no  danger  now." 

"  There  is  danger,  Janet,  and  they  will  murder  us.  I  heard 
them  crying  and  shouting  only  a  miiiute  ago ;  and,  there, 
there  is  that  dreadful  trumpet  now,  whose  sounds  go  like  a 
sword-stab  to  my  heart.  I  can  not,  Janet  —  i  dare  not  :  there, 
is  danger." 

"  None  :  on  my  life,  Rose,  there  is  no  danger  now.  Our 
people  have  retreated,  and  the  dragoons  have  all  gone  oil  in 
pursuit.  They  are  now  a  great  way  oft',  and  we  can  get  back 
to  the  house  long  before  they  return.  Do  not  fear,  Rose,  but 
go  with  me,  only  for  a  little  while." 

"  I  can  not,  I  will  not  go  among  the  dead  bodies.  You  would 
not  have  me  go  there,  Janet ;  you  surely  will  not  go  yourself?" 

"  Ay,  there,  Rose,  even  there,  among  the  dying  and  the 
dead,  if  it.  must  be  so.  I  may  serve  the  one,  I  have  no  cause 


THE   COURAGE   OF   LOVE.  229 

to  fear  the  other.  It  may  be  —  it  must  be  —  dreadful  to  look 
upon,  but  my  heart  holds  it  to  be  a  duty  that  I  should  go  there 
now,  and,  if  not  a  duty,  it  is  a  desire  that  I  can  not  control. 
I  must  go,  Rose,  and  I  would  not  go  alone." 

"  I  will  not ;  forgive  me,  Janet,  but  I  should  go  mad  to  see 
the  blood  and  the  dead  bodies.  I  can  not  go." 

"  God  be  with  me  !  I  must  go  alone  :"  and,  as  she  replied 
thus,  giving  her  solemn  determination,  her  eyes  were  uplifted 
in  a  holy  appeal  to  the  Almighty  Being,  whose  presence, 
in  the  absence  of  all  others,  she  had  invoked  for  her  adventure. 

"  Hold  me  not,  Hose,  I  am  resolved.  I  must  go,  though  1 
go  alone.  Yet,  I  should  not,  Rose,  if  you  would  but  reflect. 
There  are  no  noises  now,  there  are  no  alarms  ;  the  troops  have 
gone  ;  there  is  no  sort  of  danger." 

She  looked  appealingly  to  her  companion  while  she  spoke, 
but  her  eye  met  no  answering  sympathies  in  that  of  Rose 
Duncan.  The  terrors  of  the  latter  were  unabated.  There 
was  a  vital  difference  of  character  between  the  two.  The 
elastic  spirit  of  the  more  lively  maiden  was  one  merely  of 
the  physical  and  external  world.  She  was  the  summer-bird, 
a  thing  of  glitter  and  of  sunshine.  She  could  not  live  in 
the  stormy  weather;  she  could  not  bide  the  turbulence  of 
strife.  It  was  at  such  a  time  that  the  spirit  of  Janet  Berkeley 
came  forth  in  strength,  if  not  in  buoyancc  ;  even  ?cn{ue  eagle, 
who  takes  that  season  to  soar  forth  from  his  mountain  dwelling, 
when  the  black  masses  of  the  tempest  growl  and  gather  most 
gloomily  around  it. 

"  You  will  not,  Rose  ?" 

•'  No,  do  not  ask  me,  Janet." 

The  firm  and  determined  maiden,  without  another  word, 
simply  raised  her  finger,  and  pointed  to  the  adjoining  apart 
ment,  where  her  father  was.  The  uplifted  finger  then  pressed 
her  lips  for  a  moment,  and  in  the  next  she  was  gone  from  sight. 
Rose  did  not  believe  that  she  would  go  forth  after  her  refusal 
to  accompany  her,  and  she  now  earnestly  called  her  back. 
But  she  was  already  out  of  hearing:  she  had  gone  forth  to 
the  field  of  blood  and  battle  :  and,  strong  in  love,  and  fearless 
in  absorbing  and  concentrative  affections,  sh'3  had  gone  alonu 


230  UKT.UCIIAMPK. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE    WOUNDED    LOVER 

LOVE  is  the  vital  principle  of  religion  -  it  is  religion.  It 
is  the  devotion  that  fears  not  death  —  which  is  rot  won  hy  lify 
—  which  can  not  be  seduced  from  duty  —  which  is  patient  an  I 
uncomplaining  amid  privation.  Its  existence  becomes  merged 
in  that  of  the  object  which  it  worships,  and  its  first  gift  is  the 
sacrifice  of — self.  There  is  no  love  if  the  heart  will  not  i nnk'3 
this  sacrifice,  and  the  heart  never  truly  loves  until  this  sacrifice 
be  made.  Self  is  that  life  which  we  surrender  when  we  gain 
the  happiness  of  the  blessed.  Seldom  made  in  this  life,  it  is 
yet  the  only  condition  upon  which  we  are  secure  of  the  future. 
Ah  !  happy  the  spirit  which  is  soonest  ready  for  the  sacrifice. 
To  such  a  spirit,  Heaven  and  Immortality  arc  one  ! 

The  destiny  of  such  a  creature  as  Janet  Berkeley  might 
even  nowm>3  written.  She  is  secure.  There  can  be  no  change 
in  such  a  character.  Time,  and  fortune,  sickness,  the  defer. t 
of  hope,  and  the  consciousness  of  approaching  death,  could 
-never  alter  one  lofty  mood,  one  self-devoting  impulse  of  her 
soul.  Surely,  though  she  seeks  the  field  of  terror  unaccom 
panied  by  human  form,  she  will  not  necessarily  be  alone.  The 
God  whose  worship  calls  only  for  love,  will  not  be  heedless  of 
the  safety  of  her  who  toils  for  the  beloved  one.  He  is  with 
her. 

Resolute  as  she  was  to  seek  the  field  of  strife,  and  feailess 
as  her  conduct  approved  her  spirit,  she  was  yet  sufficiently 
maiden  in  her  reserve,  to  desire  as  much  as  possible,  to  conceal 
from  stranger  eyes  the  object  of  her  adventure.  With  a  cau 
tious  footstep,  therefore,  she  stole  from  cover  to  cover,  until  she 
reached  the  artificial  bank,  clustering  and  crowded  with  shrubs 


THE    WOUJNDKD    LOVER.  1 

and  vines,  which  supported  the  trees  on  one  side  of  the  spa 
cious  avenue.  With  a  trembling  hand  she  parted  the  shrub 
bery  before  her,  and  her  eyes  took  in  for  an  instant  the  field 
of  battle,  and  then,  immediately  after,  shutting  out  its  objects, 
closed,  as  if  with  a  moral  comprehension  of  their  own.  She 
could  not  be  mistaken  in  the  dreadful  objects  in  her  sight. 
The  awful  testimonies  of  the  desperate  fight  were  strewed 
around  her.  Her  uplifted  foot,  in  the  very  first  step  which  she 
had  been  about  to  take  from  the  bank,  hung  suspended  over 
the  lifeless  body  of  one  of  its  victims.  She  turned  suddenly 
and  sickeningly  away.  She  strove,  but  she  could  not  pass  into 
the  avenue  at  that  point,  and  she  receded  through  the  thicket, 
and  made  her  way  round  to  another  quarter,  in  which  she  hoped 
to  find  an  unobstructed  passage.  There  was  but  little  time  for 
delay,  and  with  this  thought  a  new  resolution  brought  strength 
to  her  frame.  Again  her  hand  parted  the  copse,  making  a  pas 
sage  for  her  person.  Tin's  time  she  dared  not  look.  She  did 
not  again  permit  herself  either  to  think  or  to  look,  but  re 
solutely  leaping  across  the  ditch,  she  stood  for  a  moment, 
awed  and  trembling,  but  still  firm,  in  the  presence  of  the  dead. 
She  was  motionless  for  several  seconds;  but  her  mind  neu 
tralized,  in  its  noble  strength  of  purpose,  the  otherwise  truly 
feminine  feebleness  of  her  person.  She  was  about  to  move 
forward  in  her  determined  task;  but  when  she  strove  to  lift 
her  foot,  it  seemed  half-fastened  to  the  ground.  She  looked 
down,  and  her  shoe  was  covered  with  clotted  blood.  She 
stood  in  a  fast-freezing  puddle  of  what,  but  an  hour  before, 
had  been  warm  life  and  feeling.  But  she  did  not  now  give 
heed  to  the  obstruction ;  she  was  unconscious  of  this  thought, 
Her  mind  was  elsewhere,  and  her  eyes  sought ( for  another 
object.  The  anxiety  of  her  heart  was  too  intense  to  make  her 
heedful  of  those  minor  influences,  which  at  another  time  would 
have  shocked  the  sensibilities  and  overthrown  all  the  strength 
of  her  sex.  She  hurried  forward,  and  her  eyes  were  busy  all 
around  her.  The  whole  length  of  the  avenue  seemed  marked 
by  the  suffering  victims,  or  those  who  had  ceased  to  suffer. 
Death  had  been  busy  in  this  quarter,  and  tory  and  rebel  had 
equally  paid  tribute  to  the  destroyer.  A  deep  moaning,  feebly 


282  MELLICHAMPE. 

uttered  but  full  of  pain,  came  to  her  ears.  It  guided  her  steps. 
She  followed  the  one  sound  only.  A  wounded  man  lay  half 
in  the  ditch,  to  which  he  had  crawled  as  if  to  be  out  of  the 
way  of  the  horses.  His  head  and  shoulders  were  on  the 
bank,  the  rest  of  his  body  was  concealed.  A  frightful  gash 
disfigured  his  face,  and  the  blood-smeared  features  were  yet 
pale  with  the  sickness  of  death.  lie  stretched  out  a  feeble 
arm  as  she  approached.  He  muttered  a  single  word  — 

"  Water." 

At  another  time,  she  would  have  rim  with  the  speed  of 
charity  to  bring  him  the  blessed  draught  for  which  lie  prayed; 
but  now  she  gave  him  no  heed.  There  was  nothing  in  his 
face  which  spoke  to  her  heart;  and  that  moaning  sound  yet 
reached  her  ears  at  intervals.  She  hurried  onward,  and  the 
pleading  wretch  sank  back  and  perished,  even  as  he  prayed. 
She  heard  his  last  gasping  groan,  but  it  had  no  effect  upon  her 
feeling.  Her  mind  was  sensible  only  of  the  one  sound  which 
had  so  far  guided  her  footsteps.  It  seemed,  through  the  me 
dium  of  some  strange  instinct,  at  once  to  convey  itself  to  her 
soul.  She  reached  the  bend  in  the  avenue  whence  it  came. 
On  the  edge  of  the  ditch,  half-buried  in  the  water  and  the 
long  grass,  lay  the  wounded  man.  A  single  glance  informed 
her.  She  could  not  mistake  the  uniform. 

"  Mellichampe  !"  she  cried,  in  a  thrilling  voice  of  terror,  as 
with  one  desperate  bound  she  rushed  forward  to  the  spot,  and, 
heedless  of  the  thick  blood  which  had  dyed  the  grass  all 
around  where  he  lay,  sank  on  her  knees  beside  him,  while  her 
enfolding  arms  were  wrapped  about  his  bosom. 

"  Ernest —  dear  Ernest !  speak  to  me  ;  tell  me  that  you  live  ; 
say  that  yoy  are  mine  still  —  that  I  do  not  lose  you.  Look  at 
me,  Ernest  —  speak  to  me  —  speak  to  me  only  once." 

He  was  in  her  arms  —  he  breathed  —  he  felt;  but  he  spoke 
not,  and  did  not  seem  conscious.  Her  heart  was  strong,  though 
suffering;  and  her  feeble  strength  of  person,  under  its  prompt 
ings,  was  employed  with  an  energy  of  which  she  had  never 
before  conjectured  one  half  the  possession,  to  dr.-ig  him  forth 
from  the  vines  and  brambles  which  lay  thick  around  IMK 
face  —  the  concealing  cover  in  which  he  had  been  studiously 


THE    WOUKDKD    LOVKK.  233 

placed  by  the  trusty  Witherapooa  the  moment  before  liis  own 
flight.  From  this  cover  she  now  strove  to  lift  tlie  form  of  her 
lover;  «iiul,  tliougli  womiding  her  delicate  fingers  at  every 
effort  with  the  thorns,  the  devoted  Janet  felt  nothing  of  their 
injuries  as  she -labored  with  this  object.  With  great  effort  sho 
succeeded  in  drawing  him  upon  the  bank,  and  his  head  now 
rested  upon  her  arms.  A  writhing  of  his  person,  a  choking 
half-suppressed  groan,  attested  the  returning  consciousness, 
with  the  increased  pain  following  this  movement,  and  mixed 
moans  and  menaces  fell  incoherently  from  his  lips.  KVIMI 
these  signs,  though  signs  of. pain  to  him,  and  holding  forth  no 
encouragement  of  liopc  to  her,  were  yet  more  graceful  than  the 
unconsciousness  in  which  he  lay  before.  She  spoke  to  him  — 
the  words  bursting  forth  in  an  intensity  of  natural  eloquence 
from  her  tongue,  which  could  scarce  have  failed  to  arouse  him, 
even  from  the  stupor  of  overcoming  death  itself. 

"  Speak  to  me,  Mellichampe :  dear  Ernest,  speak  to  me. 
tell  me  that  you  live  —  that  you  are  not  hurt  to  death.  It  in 
Janet,  your  own  Janet,  that  calls  upon  you.  Look  up  and 
sec  ;  look  up  and  hear  me.  It  is  rny  arms,  dear  Ernest,  that 
hold  you  now ;  the  bloody  men  are  all  gone." 

And  his  dim  eyes  did  unclose,  and  they  did  look  up  with 
a  sweet  mournful  ness  of  expression,  vacant  and  wild,  that 
grew  into  a  smile,  almost  of  pleasure,  when  they  met  the 
earnest,  commiserating  glance  of  hers.  They  closed  again 
almost  instantly,  however;  but  he  murmured  her  name  at  the 
moment. 

"  Janet  —  you  ?" 

"Your  own,  in  life  and  death,  Ernest  —  ever  your  own," 

A, id  she  clung  to  him  with  a  tenacious  hold,  at  that  instant, 
as  if  determined  that  death  should  take  no  separate  victim 
He  was  again  conscious,  and  spoke,  though  feebly  :  — 

"I  fear  me  it  is  death,  Janet.  I  feel  it;  this  pain  can  noi 
long  be  endured,  and  my  limbs  are  useless." 

"Speak  not  thus,  Ernest;    I  know  it  is  not   so.      Stay  — 
move  not.      I  will  lift  you  to  the  house  —  I  will — " 

"  You  !"  and  he  smiled  feebly  and  fondly,  is  ho  arrested 
the  idle  speech. 


234  a.KI.l.lCliAMl'h. 

"  God  jf  heaven  !  have  mercy!  \vliat  shall  I  do?  I  may 
not  lielp  him  :"  and  the  exclamation  burst  spontaneously 
from  her  lips,  as  she  found,  after  repeated  efforts,  that  her  fee 
ble  arms  were  inadequate  to  the  task  even  of  lifting  him  from 
his  present  painful  position  to  a  drier  spot  upon  the  bank. 
In  her  Bewilderment  and  anguish,  she  could  only  call  his 
name  in  a  bitter  fondness.  He  heard  her  complaints,  and 
Rcemed  to  comprehend  their  occasion.  His  lips  parted,  and, 
though  with  pain  and  a  sensible  effort,  he  strove  to  speak  to 
her.  The  words  were  faint  and  inaudible.  She  bent  down 
her  ears,  and  at  length  distinguished  what  he  said.  lie  but 
named  to  her  the  faithful  negro  who  had  once  before  stood  so 
opportunely  between  him  and  his  enemy,  and  had  nearly  suf 
fered  a  dreadful  and  ignominious  death  in  consequence  of  his 
fidelity. 

"  Scip  —  Scipio  —  he  will  come  —  Scip." 

His  eyes  closed  with  the  effort,  but  her  face  brightened  as 
she  listened  to  the  words,  She  immediately  laid  his  head 
tenderly  upon  the  bank,  pressed  the  pale,  unconscious  forehead 
with  her  lips,  and,  bounding  away  through  the  thicket,  hurried 
with  all  the  fleetness  of  a  irealous  and  devoted  spirit  to  the 
tompletion  of  her  task 


LOVE  8    BAKRIEIt. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

LOVE'S     HA  UK  I  Kit. 

SHE  was  not  long  in  finding  the  faithful  Scipio.  lie  sprang 
with  all  the  alacrity  of  a  genuine  zeal  in  obedience  to  her 
commands.  When  he  heard  from  her  faltering  lips  the  melan 
choly  occasion  which  called  for  his  attendance,  his  own  emo 
tion  was  unrestrainahle,  though  he  affected  to  d<mht  the  cer 
tainty  of  her  information. 

"  Who  —  who  da  hurt,  Missis  ]  You  no  say  da  Mass  Arnest  I 
I  no  blieb  it.  Mass  Arnest,  he  too  strong,  and  he  too  quick 
for  let  dern  dam  tory  hurt  a  bone  in  he  body.  He  somebody 
else,  missis.  Yon  no  'casion  for  scare;  he  somebody  else  hab 
knock  on  he  head  :  no  Mass  Arnest,  I  berry  sartin.  I3ut  1  go 
long  wid  you  all  de  same,  dough  I  no  guine  link  da  Mass 
Arnest  git  hurt.  lie  hab  much  hurt,  I  turn  soger  mysef.  I 
run  way  from  ole  maussa,  and  take  de  bush  after  dem  tory.  1 
sway  to  God  nothing  guine  'top  me  I  once  in  de  woods.  I'm',, 
come,  young  missis,  show  me  de  place  whay  de  person  hurt, 
dough  I  know  berry  well  taint  Mass  Arnest." 

Denying  her  assertion,  yet  fearing  at  every  step  that  he 
took  —  and,  indeed,  only  denying  that  he  might  the  mort, 
readily  impose  upon  himself  with  the  unbelief  which  he  ex 
pressed,  but  with  which  he  was  yet  not  satisfied  —  the  sturdy 
Scipio  followed  his  young  mistress  toward  the  avenue.  They 
had  not  reached  the  little  copse,  however,  by  which  it  waw 
girdled,  before  they  heard  the  rush  of  horses,  and  the  shrill 
blast  of  the  bugle. 

"Top  in   dis   bush,  young  missis;    .squat  down   hern   uiidei 
dis  persimmon,  whay  d;iy  can't  see  you." 


2oG  MKI.LICILVMI'K. 

"No,  Scipio,  let  us  go  forward.  1  think  we  can  get  to  the 
avenue  before  they  come  up,  and  I  would  have  you  lift  liim 
into  the  bushes  out  of  the  way  of  the  horsemen,  before  they 
have  passed  by.  Do  not  fear,  Scipio;  we  shall  have  time, 
but  you  must  go  forward  quickly." 

The  black  looked  into  her  face  with  astonishment,  as  well 
he  might.  Her  words  were  unbroken,  and  her  tones  quick 
and  unaffected,  equable,  even  musical  ;  while  his  own,  accus 
tomed  as  he  had  been  all  his  life  to  utter  and  complete  subor 
dination,  were  tremulous  with  timidity  and  fear. 

"  Gor  a-mity,  Miss  Janet,  you  no  scare?  You  no  frighten, 
and  you  only  young  gal  ?  Scip  member  when  you  been  only 
so  high,  arid  here  you  tall  —  you  'tan  up  traight  —  you  look 
all  round — you  no  trouble,  dough  you  hear  de  horn  blow  ami 
de  sogers  coming.  Wlia*  for  you  no  scare  like  Scipio  ?" 

.  She  could  not  smile  at  that  moment,  as  at  another  she  could 
ncarcely  have  refrained  from  doing;  buther  eye  was  turned 
upon  the  half-unnerved  negro,  and  her  taper  finger  rested  on 
his  sable  wrist,  as  she  said  in  tones  which  strengthened  him, 
as  he  felt  they  came  from  one  who  was  herself  snpernaturally 
strengthened  — 

"Fear  nothing,  but  come  on  quickly.  I  need  all  your 
strength,  Scipio ;  and,  if  you  will  mind  what  I  say  to  you, 
there  will  be  no  danger.  Come  on." 

He  opposed  nothing  farther  to  her  progress,  but  followed  in 
silence.  They  had  reached  an  outer  fence,  the  rails  of  which 
had  been  let  down  in  order  to  the  free  passage  of  the  cavalry 
before,  when  the  increasing  clamor  of  the  approaching  detach 
ment  under  Barsfield  again  impelled  Scipio  to  other  sugges 
tions  of  caution  to  his  youthful  mistress.  But  she  heeded  him 
not,  and  continued  her  progress.  Nor  did  he  shrink.  Ho 
could  pe.rish  for  her  as  readily  as  for  Mellichampe  ;  and,  to  do 
the  faithful  slave  all  justice,  his  exhortations  were  prompted 
not  so  much  by  his  own  danger  or  hers,  as  by  a  natural  sense 
of  the  delicacy  of  that  position  in  which  she  might  involve 
herself,  under  that  strong  and  passionate  fervor  of  devoted 
L've  which  blinded  her  to  all  feeling  of  danger,  and  placed 
her  infintely  beyond  the  fear  of  death.  Other  fears  she  had 


LOVE'S    BARRIER.  "Mi 

not.  Her  maiden  innocence  had  nc^er  yet  dreamed  of  a 
wrong  to  that  purity  of  soul  and  person,  of  which  her  whole  life 
might  well  have  been  considered  the  embodied  representative. 

But  the  forbearance  of  the  negro,  and  his  ready  compliance 
hitherto,  all  disappeared  when,  on  reaching  the  copse,  he  be- 
held  the  bright  sabres  flashing  in  his  eyes  immediately  in  the 
courtyard,  as,  rounding  the  yet  blazing  fabric,  the  troopers  of 
Barsfield  were  even  then  making  with  all  speed  toward  the 
avenue.  He  caught  the  wrist  of  his  mistress,  and  pointed  out 
the  advancing  enemy.  She  saw  at  a  glance  that,  in  another 
moment,  they  would  make  their  appearance  in  the  avenue 
quite  as  soon  as  herself.  But  a  few  paces  divided  her  from 
Mellichampo;  and,  as  she  hesitated  whether  to  pause  or  pro 
ceed,  she  trembled  now,  for  the  first  time  in  her  movement. 
In  that  moment  of  doubt,  the  more  ready  physical  energy  of 
the  negro  obtained  the  ascendency.  With  something  like  fear 
lie  drew  her  to  a  part  of  the  copse  which  was  thicker  than  the 
rest,  and  here  she  partially  crouched  from  sight,  he  taking  a 
place  humbly  enough  immediately  behind  her.  What  were 
her  feelings  then,  in  that  position  —  what  her  fears  !  She  bore 
them  not  long.  The  anxiety  and  the  suspense  were  infinitely 
beyond  all  estimation  of  the  danger  in  her  mind  ;  and,  with 
fearless  hands,  after  a  few  moments  of  dreadful  pause  and 
apprehension,  she  divided  the  crowding  bushes  from  before 
her,  a.nd  looked  down  into  the  ditch  which  separated  her  from 
the  avenue. 

At  that  moment,  leading  his  squad  and  moving  rapidly  at 
their  head,  Barsfield  rode  into  the  enclosure.  Instinctively,  as 
she  beheld  his  huge  form  and  fiercely-excited,  harsh  features, 
her  hands  sunk  down  at  her  side,  and  the  slender  branches 
which  she  had  opened  in  the  copse  before  her,  with  their 
crowding  foliage,  resumed  in  part  their  old  position,  and  would 
most  completely  have  concealed  her;  but  when,  in  the  next 
instant,  she  beheld  the  fierce  tory  ride^directly  to  the  spot 
where  Mellichampe  lay,  when  she  saw  him  rein  up  his  steed 
and  leap  with  onward  haste  to  the  ground,  when  her  eye 
: canned  the  intense  malignity  and  mingled  exultation  and 

atred  of  his  glance,  and   she  saw   that  his   bloody  sabre  waa 


238 


MEL  LICIT  A  MTK. 


even  then  uplifted  —  she  had  no  further  fears  —  she  had  no 
further  thoughts  of  herself.  She  tore  the  brandies  away  from 
before  her,  and,  in  defiance  of  all  the  efforts  of  the  faithful 
Scipio  to  restrain-  her,  she  leaped  forward  directly  into  the 
path  of  the  tory,  and  in  the  face  of  his  uplifted  weapon. 

Her  appearance  was  in  the  last  degree  opportune.  Another 
moment  might  have  ended  all  her  cares  for  her  lover.  Bars 
field  was  standing  above  him,,  and  Mellichampe  had  exhibited 
just  life  enough  to  give  the  tory  an  excuse  sufficient  to  drive 
the  sword  which  he  held  into  the  bosom  of  that  enemy  whom, 
of  all  the  world,  he  was  most  desirous  to  destroy.  The  medi 
tated  blow  was  almost  descending,  and  the  feeble  youth  stim 
ulated  by  the  presence  of  his  foe,  was  vainly  struggling  to  rise 
from  the  earth,  which  was  all  discolored  with  his  blood.  His 
dim  eyes  were  opening  in  momentary  flashes,  while  his  sinew 
less  arm  was  feebly  striving  to  lift  the  sabre,  which  he  had 
still  retained  tenaciously  in  his  grasp,  in  opposition  to  that  of 
Barsfield.  The  instinct  rather  than  the  reason  of  love  pre 
vailed.  Indeed,  the  instinct  of  love  is  woman's  be&t  reason. 
With  a  shriek  that  rose  more  shrilly  upon  the  air  than  the 
bugle  of  the  enemy,  she  threw  herself  under  the  weapon  —  she 
lay  prostrate  upon  the  extended  and  fainting  form  of  her  lover 
—  she  clasped  his  head  with  her  arms,  and  her  bosom  formed 
the  sweet  and  all-powerful  barrier  which,  in  that  perilous 
moment,  protected  his.  The  weapon  of  the  tory  was  arrested. 
He  had  heard  her  cry  —  he  had  seen  the  movement  —  and  h<> 
did  not,  he  could  not  then,  strike. 

"Save  him,  spare  him,  Barsfield  ! — he  is  dying  —  you  have 
already  slain  him  !  Strike  no  other  blow  ;  have  mercy,  1  prav 
you- — if  not  upon  him,  have  mercy  upon  me.  I  have  never 
wronged  you  —  I  will  not  — let  us  go  free.  Why  will  you 
hate  us  so  —  why  —  why  ?" 

"Fear  not,  Miss  Berkeley  —  you  mistake  my  purpose:  I 
mean  not  to  destroy^him.  Leave  him  now  —  let  one  of  my 
men  attend  you  to  the  house;  and  Mr.  Mellichampe  shall  te 
taken  care  of." 

"I  will  not  leave  him,"  she  exclaimed  ;  "I  dare  not  tr;.~v 
you,  Barsfield — I  can  take  care  of  him  myself." 


LOVE'S  BARRIER.  239 

The  fierce  brow  of  the  tory  blackened  as  this  reproachful 
speech  met  his  ears. 

"  What !  not  trust  ine,  Miss  Berkeley  ?" 

"  Why  should  I  ?  Did  I  not  behold  you,  even  now,  about 
to  strike  his  unguarded  bosom  ?" 

"  He  strove  to  fight  —  he  offered  resistance,"  was  the  somo 
what  hasty  reply  of  the  tory. 

"He  strove  to  fight! — he  offered  resistance! — oh,  shame. 
Captain  Barsfield  —  shame  to  manhood  — that  you  should 
speak  such  language!  What  resistance  could  he  offer  1  how 
could  he  fight,  and  the  blood  that  could  only  have  given  him 
strength  for  such  a  conflict  soaking  up  the  earth  about  him  ? 
If  that  blood  were  now  in  his  heart,  Mr.  Barsfield,  you  would 
not  now  speak  thus,  nor  would  I  have  occasion,  sir,  to  plead 
for  his  life  at  any  hands,  and,  least  of  all,  at  yours." 

She  had  raised  herself  from  the  body,  over  which  she  still 
continued  to  bend,  under  the  indignation  of  her  spirit  at  the 
unmanly  speech  of  the  tory.  Her  eyes  flashed  forth  a  fire  as 
she  spoke,  'neath  which  his  own  grew  humbled  and  ashamed. 
His  muscles  quivered  with  rage  and  vexation,  and  his  only 
resort  for  relief  was  to  that  natural  suggestion  of  the  lowly 
mind  which  seeks  to  conceal  or  fortify  one  base  action  by  the 
commission  of  another. 

"Take  her  away,  Beacham,"  he  said  to  one  of  the  troopers; 
"carry  her  to  the  house  —  tenderly,  Beacham  —  tenderly  ;  hurt 
he  not.  Be  careful,  as  you  value  my  favor." 

"  Touch  me  not,"  she  cried  aloud,  "  touch  me  not :  put  no 
hand  upon  me.  This  is  my  home,  Captain  Barsfield  —  I  arn 
here  of  right,  while  you  are  but  the  guest  of  our  hospitality 
Do  not  suffer  these  men  to  lay  hands  upon  me." 

"  But  you  are  here  in  danger,  Miss  Berkeley." 

"Only  from  you,  sir — only  from  you  and  yours.  I  am  in 
no  danger,  sir,  from  him  —  none  —  none.  I  will  cling  to  him 
for  safety  to  the  last,  though  he  hear  me  not  —  though  he  never 
hear  me  again.  He  is  mine,  sir  and  I  am  his;  but  you  knew 
this  before.  He  is  mine — you  shall  not  tear  me  from  my 
husband" 


MELLICHAMPE. 

•'  Husband !"  cried  Barsfield,  in  unmitigated  surprise  and 
unconcealed  vexation. 

"  Ye-s,  husband,  before  God,  if  not  in  the  eye  of  man  !  Liv 
ing  or  dead,  Ernest,  I  am  still  yours  —  yours  only.  I  swear  it 
by  this  unconscious  form  —  I  swear  it  by  all  that  is  good  and 
holy  —  all  that  can  hallow  an  innocent  love,  and  make  sacred 
and  strong  so  solemn  and  so  dear  a  pledge !  You  can  not  now 
separate  us  —  you  dare  not!" 

"You  know  not,  Miss  Berkeley,  how  much  I  can  dare  in  the 
performance  of  my  duty." 

"  This  is  no  duty  of  yours  —  I  need  none  of  your  guardian 
ship." 

"  Ay,  Miss  Berkeley,  you  do  not,  perhaps,  but  he  cToes.  He 
is  my  prisoner,  under  charge  of  a  heavy  crime  —  of  treason  to 
his  sovereign,  and  of  being  a  spy  upon  my  camp." 

'•TVhat!  he  —  Mellichampe  !  Oh,  false,  false  —  foolish  and 
false  !"  was  her  almost  fierce  exclamation. 

"  True  as  gospel,  Miss  Berkeley,  as  I  shall  prove  to  his  con 
viction,  if  not  yours.  But  this  is  trifling,  surely.  Beacham, 
remove  the  lady  ;  treat  her  tenderly,  but  remove  her  from  the 
body  of  the  prisoner:  we  must  secure  him  at  all  hazards — • 
living  or  dead." 

The  rugged  soldier,  in  obedience  to  these  commands,  ap 
proached  the  maiden,  who  now  cli;ng  more  firmly  than  ever  to 
the  half  conscious  form  of  her  lovev.  Her  arms  wers  wound 
about  his  neck,  and,  with  convulsive  shrieks  at  intervals,  she 
spoke  alternately  to  Barsfield  and  her  lover.  In  .the  mean 
time,  beholding  the  approach  of  the  soldier  who  had  been 
instructed  to  bear  her  away,  the  faithful  Scipio,  though  entirely 
unarmed,  did  not  hesitate  at  once  to  leap  forward  to  her  assist 
ance.  He  made  his  way  between  her  and  the  soldier  Beacham, 
and,  though  Ills'  arms  hung  without  movement  at  his  side,  there 
was  yet  enough  in  his  manner  to  show  to  the  iory  that  he 
meditated  all  the  resistance  of  which,  under  the  circumstances, 
he  could  be  considered  capable.  His  teeth  were  set  firmly; 
his  eyes  sought  those  of  the  soldier,  and  were  there  fixed  ;  and 
bis  head  rested  upon  one  shoulder  with  an  air  of  dogged  deter- 


241 

minatioii  which,  even  hefore  he  spoke,  conveyed  all  the  elo 
quence  of  his  subsequent  words. 

"  Say  de  wild,  missis  —  only  say  de  wud,  and  I  hammer  dig 
poor  bnckrab  till  he  hab  noting  leff  but  de  white  ob  de  eye. 
He  hab  sword  for  stick,  and  Scip  only  hab  he  hand  and  teet'j 
but  I  no  'fraid  ob  um  ;  only  you  say  de  v/ud  —  dat's  all !" 

But  poor  Scipio,  as  was  natural  enoagh  at  such  a  moment., 
in  the  presence  of  his  mistress,  and  his  blood  mounting  irijjb 
at  seeing  the  condition  of  Ernest  Mellichampe,  had  prievou?!  r 
miscalculated  his  own  strength  He  had  scarcely  spoken 
when  a  stroke  from  the  back  of  a  sabre  across  the  head  brought 
him  to  the  ground,  like  a  stunned  ox,  and  taught  Janet  hew 
little  commiseration  she  was  to  expect  from  the  fierce  man 
who  stood  before  her,  wielding,  at  that  instant,  her  entire  des 
tiny.  The  soldier  advanced,  though  Avith  some  evident  reluc 
tance,  and  he  laid  his  hand  upon  her.  She  started,  on  the 
instant,  and  rose  immediately  to  her  feet. 

"If  you  are  resolved  upon  violence  toward  me,  Captain 
.Barsfield,  I  will  spare  myself,  as  much  as  possible,  the  pain 
of  suffering  it.  You  have,  sir,  all  the  shame  of  having  com 
manded  it.  I  know  that  you  have  the  strength  to  tear  me 
away  from  him;  you  are  wise,  perhaps,  as  you  seem  only  to 
employ-  it  when  the  difference  is  so  manifest.  But  I  will  imt 
b€  separated  from  him,  though  you  declare  him  your  prisoner  : 
I  will 'be  a  prisoner  also ;  I  will  cling  to  him  wherever  you 
may  decree  that  he  shall  be  carried  ;  for  know,  sir,  that  I  trust 
you  not.  The  man  who  will  employ  violence  to  a  woman 
v/ould  murder  his  sleeping  enemy  !" 

"  Remove  her  to  the  house,  Beacham,"  was  all  that  the  tory 
said  ;  but  his  words  were  uttered  with  teeth  closely  clinched 
together,  and  his  whole  frame  seemed  to  quiver  with  indigna 
tion.  At  that  moment  the  sound  of  Tarleton's  returning  bugle 
smote  suddenly  upon  the  ears  of  all ;  and  the  quick  sense  <>( 
Janet  immediately  saw,  in  the  features  of  Barsfield,  that  tin- 
intelligence  was  not  pleasing  to  his  mind.  He  hurried  his 
commands  for  the  removal  of  Mellichampe's  body,  and  was  now 
doubly  anxious  to  convey  her  to  the  house.  Without  a  deC- 


242  MKLLICHAMPK. 

nite  motive  for  refusing  now  to  do  that  to  which,  but  a  moment 
before,  she  had  consented,  she  sprang  again  to  the  person  oi 
her  lover,  again  threw  her  arms  about  him,  and  refused  to  bo 
separated.  While  thus  situated,  the  tones  of  another  voice 
were  heard  immediately  behind  the  group.  The  deep,  t:ul- 
dued,  but  stern  accents  of  Tarleton  himself  were  not  to  be 
mistaken ;  and  Barsfield  started  in  obvious  agitation,  as  he 
heard  the  question  which  first  announced  to  him  the 
of'  his  superior. 


TAJtLKTON    IN    TIME.  243 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

TARLETON    IN    TIME. 

THE  group,  at  that  moment  in  the  avenue,  formed  a  striking 
picture.  The  voice  of  Tarleton  seemed  to  have  the  effect  of 
paralyzing  and  fixing  to  his  place  each  of  the  parties.  Janet, 
on  bended  knee,  with  her  person  half  stretched  over  the  insen 
sible  body  of  her  lover,  her  face  turned  and  her  hand  uplifted 
to  the  legionary  col&nel,  looked,  at  the  same  moment,  relieved 
and  apprehensive.  She  felt  that,  the  presence  of  Tarleton  was 
a  restraint  upon  the  vindictive  personal  hostility  of  Barsfield  ; 
but  did  she  not  also  know  that  the  name  of  the  legionary  was 
synonymous  in  Carolina  with  everything  that  was  bloody  and 
revengeful?  She  hoped  and  trembled,  yet  she  was  better 
pleased  that  the  destinies  of  her  lover  should  rest  with  the 
latter  than  the  former.  Tarleton  could  have  no  individual 
hatred  to  Mellichampe  ;  she  well  conceived  the  viperous  and 
unforgiving  hate  which  rankled  against  him  in  the  bosom  of 
the  tory. 

The  quiet  inquiry,  the  even  and  subdued  tones,  of  Tar 
leton,  had  the  effect  of  a  like  paralysis  upon  the  limbs  of 
Barsfield.  His  mood  was  rebuked  —  his  violent  proceedings 
at  once  arrested,  as  he  heard  them  ;  yet  they  were  words  of 
simple  inquiry. 

"  What  does  all  this  mean,  Captain  Barsfield  ?  why  is  this 
lady  here  ?" 

The  tory  explained,  or  sought  to  explain,  but  he  performed 
the  task  imperfectly. 

"  A  wounded  enemy  —  a  prisoner,  sir.  I  would  have  con 
veyed  him  where  he  could  procure  tendence,  but  Miss  Berkeley 
resisted.' 


'244  MKLMc 

The  maiden  rose.  Slie  approached  Tarleton,  and  said  tc 
him,  in  low,  but  still  audible  tones, 

"Because  I  would  not  trust  him.  lie  would  have  killed 
];im  —  he  would  have  murdered  him  with  his  bloody  sword,  if 
I  had  not  come  between." 

"  Bt.t  who  is  he,  y°nng  lady,  what  is  the  youth  in  whom 
you  take  such  interest  ?" 

Her  lips  quivered,  and  a  faint  flush  spread  itself  over  her 
checks,  but  she  did  not  reply. 

"  Who  is  the  prisoner,  Captain  BaiT.field  ?" 

"  A  rebel,  sir  —  one  Mellichampe." 

"Son  of  Max  Mellichampe  ?"  demanded  Tarleton,  inter 
rupting  him. 

"  The  same,  sir ;  as  malignant  a  rebel  as  his  father;  and 
one  not  only  liable  to  be  dealt  with  as  such,  but  one  whom  I 
would  secure  for  trial  as  a  spy." 

At  these  words  she  spoke.  The  accusation  against  her  lover 
aroused  her.  Her  eye  flashed  indignant  fires  upon  the  tory 
as  she  spoke  fearlessly  in  reply. 

"It  is  false,  sir — a  wilful  falsehood,  believe  me.  Ernest 
Mellichampe  was  no  spy  ;  he  could  not  be.  This  man  con 
ceives  his  enemy's  character  from  his  own.  Mellicham]>«>  is 
incapable,  sir,  of  so  base  an  employment  ;  and  Captain  Bars- 
field  knows  him  sufficiently  well  to  know  it.  Ernest  did  hut 
come  to  the  house  to  see  us,  as  he  was  accustomed  to  ^omo 
and  it  so  happened  that  Captain  BarsfTold,  with  his  troop, 
came  that  very  day  also.  My  father  always  extended  to  Er 
nest  Mellichampe  the  same  hospitality  which  he  extended  to 
Captain  Barsfield  ;  and  so,  sir,  you  see  that  Ernest  was  our 
visitor,  our  guest,  like  Captain  Barsfield,  and  one  of  them 
could  no  more  be  a  spy  than  the  other.  Captain  Barsfield 
knows  all  this;  and,  if  he  did  not  hate  Ernest,  I  should  not 
have  to  tell  it  you.  But  I  tell  you  the  truth,  sir,  as  I  am  a 
woman:  Ernest  was  no  spy,  and  the  charge  against  him  is 
false  and  sinful." 

She  paused,  breathless  and  agitated.  Tarleton  smiled 
faintly  as  he  heard  her  through,  and  his  eyes  rested  with 
a  gentle  and  mosf  unwonted  expression  upon  the  glowing 


TAKLKTON    IN    TIME.  245 

face  of   the  fair  pleader.     Her  eye   shrunk  from,   while   lisr 
whole  frame  trembled  beneath,  his  gaze. 

"  But  why  is  he  here,  my  good  young  lady  ?  why,  if  he  19 
our  friend,  why  is  he  here?"  inquired  Tarleton,  in  the  gentlest 
language. 

"  I  said  not  that,  sir;  I  said  not  that  he  was  a  loyalist  ; 
liiniest  Mellichampe,  sir,  is  one  of  Marion's  men." 

"  Ha  !"  was  the  quick  exclamation  of  Tarleton,  and  his  brow 
was  furrowed  with  a  heavy  frown  as  he  uttered  it. 

"  But  not  a  spy — oh  no,  sir,  not  a  spy  !  —  an  open,  avowed, 
honorable  enemy,  but  no  spy.  He  fought  against  this  man,  sir 
—  this  man  Barsfisltl —  who  hates  him,  sir,  and  came  here 
«mly  just  now,  sir  —  I  saw  it  myself — and  would  have  killed 
Ernest  Avith  his  sword,  sir,  and  he  senseless,  if  I  had  not  come 
between  him  and  the  weapon." 

"  Is  this  so,  Captain  Barsfield  ?"  inquired  Tarleton,  gravely 

"  The  rebel's  weapon  was  uplifted,  Colonel  Tarleton,  and  he 
opposed  me  Avhen  I  sought  to  make  him  my  prisoner." 

"Oh!  false  —  false,  sir  —  and  foolish  as  it  is  false!''  was 
her  reply;  "  for  how  could  he  fight,  sir,  when  he  Avas  so  hurt, 
and  lying  almost  senseless  on  the  grass?" 

"  He  could  offer  but  little  resistance,  indeed,  Captain  Bars- 
iudd  !"  remarked  Tarleton,  sternly  and  coolly;  "and  this 
reminds  me  that  he  will  the  more  speedily  need  the  assist 
ance -of  our  surgeon.  Here,  Decker  —  Wilson —Broome  — 
go  one  of  you  and  request  Mr.  Haddows  to  prepare  himself 
for  a  wounded  man  —  sabre-cut,  head  and  shoulder— away  ! 
k— and  you  — a  score  of  you,  lift  the  body  and  bear  it  to  the 
house.  Tenderly,  men -tenderly  :  if  you  move  so  roughly 
again,  Corporal  Wilson,  I'll  cleave  you  to  the  chine  Avith  my 
sabre.  Ha  !  he  shows  his  teeth  again  !  — a  fierce  rebel,  doubt 
less,  young  lady,  and  a  troublesome  one,  too,  though  you  speak 
so  earnestly  in  his  behalf." 

The  latter  remark  of  Tarleton  was  elicited  by  the  feverish 
resistance  which  the  partly-aroused  Mellichampe  now  offered 
to  his  own  removal.  The  soldiers  had  sought  to  wrest  1  is 
sabre  fi^n-ms  grasp,  and  this  again,  with  the  pain  of  the 
movement,  had  provoked  his  consciousness.  He  struggled 


21.6 

desperately  for  an  instant,  gnashed  his  teeth,  threw  his  eyes 
upon  the  group  with  an  air  of  defiance  even  in  their  vacancy, 
then  closed  them  again,  as  he  fainted  away  in  a  deathlike 
sickness  in  the  arms  which  now  uplifted  him. 

Janet  would  have  clung  still  to  her  lover  as  they  bore  him 
toward  the  dwelling,  hut  Tarleton  interposed.  He  approached 
her  with  a  smile  of  gentleness,  which  was  always  beautiful 
and  imposing  when  it  made  its  appearance  upon  his  habitually 
sombre  features. 

"Come,  Miss  Berkeley, Jet  us  go  forward  together.  You 
will  not  fear  to  take  the  arm  of  one  whom  y  ;m  doubtless  consid 
er  in  the  character  of  an  enemy  —  one,  probably,  of  the  very 
worst  sort.  Your  rebel  there,  in  whom  you  have  taken  such 
a  sweet  interest,  has  no  doubt  taught  you  to  believe  me  so  : 
and  you  have  readily  believed  all  that  he  has  taught  you.  I 
see  how  matters  stand  between  yon,  nay,  blush  not,  you  have 
nothing  to  blush  for.  You  have  only  done  your  duty — the 
duty  of  a  woman,  always  a  more  delicate,  often  a  more  holy, 
and  sometimes  a  far  more  arduous  duty  than  any  of  those  which 
are  particularly  the  performance  of  man.  I  admire  you  f  >r 
what  you  have  done,  and  yoil  will  regard  me  as  a  friend  here 
after,  though  I  am  at  war  now  with  some  of  those  whom  you 
love  most  dearly.  This  matters  nothing  with  me  :  nor  am  I 
always  the  stern  monster  which  I  appear  to  so  many.  I  am, 
they  say,  fond  of  blood-spilling,  and  I  fear  me  that  much  of 
what  they  say  is  true  ;  But  Bannister  Tarleton  was  not  always 
what  he  now  appears.  Some  of  his  boy  feelings  have  worked 
in  your  favor;  and,  so  long  as  they  last  —  and  Heaven  grant 
that  they  may  last  for  ever  —  I  will  admire  your  virtues,  and 
freely  die  to  preserve  and  promote  them.  Go  now  and  attend 
upon  this  youth  :  and,  hear  me,  young  lady,  persuade  him  hack 
to  his  true  allegiance.  You  will  do  him  as  good  a  service  by 
doing  that,  as  you  have  done  him  now.  He  will  be  well  at- 
tsrded  by  my  own  surgeon,  and  shall  want  for  nothing;  but 
hs  must  remain  a  prisoner.  The  charges  of  Captain  Barsiield 
.avust  be  examined  into,  but  he  shall  have  justice." 

"»rih,  sir,  do  not  believe  those  charges  —  do  not  believe 
c.au.  lie  i«  a  bad  man,  who  personally  hates  Ernest, 


TARLETON   IN   TIME.  247 

and  will  do  all    he    can    to    destroy    him,    as    he    destroyed    his 
father." 

"His  father!  Yes,  yes,  I  remember.  Max  Mellichampe.  His 
plantation  was  called  — " 

"  Kaddipah." 

"  I  see —  I  see,"  responded  Tarleton,  musingly,  and  his  eyes  were 
on  the  ground  ;  while  the  sabre  which  he  had  carried  in  his  hand, 
still  in  its  sheath,  came  heavily  to  the  earth  Avith  a  clatter  that  made 
the  maiden  start.  -A  few  moments'  pause  ensued,  wrhen  Tarleton 
proceeded  :  — 

"  Fear  nothing  for  the  safety  of  the  youth.  He  shall  be  tried 
impartially  and  treated  honorably,  though  we  must  now  keep  him  a 
prisoner,  and  Barsfield  must  have  his  keeping." 

"  Oh,  sir,  not  Barsfield —  anybody  else." 

"It  cannot  be/' was  the  response;  "but  there  is  no  danger.  I 
shall  say  but  a  few  words  to  Barsfield,  and  Mr.  Mellichampe  will  be 
much  safer  in  his  custody  than  in  that  of  any  other.  Take  my  word 
that  it  will  be  so.  You  have  some  prejudices,  I  perceive,  against 
Barsfield,  which  do  him  injustice.  You  will  discover,  in  the  end, 
that  you  have  wronged  him." 

"Never,  sir,  never.  You  know  him  not,  Colonel  Tarleton,  you 
know  him  not." 

"  Perhaps  not,  my  dear  young  lady  ;  but  I  know  that  Mr.  Melli 
champe  will  be  safer  after  I  have  given  my  orders.  All  I  request  of 
3'ou  is  to  be  patient.  Encourage  the  prisoner;  tell  him  to  fear  noth 
ing;. and  fear  nothing  yourself." 

She  hesitated;  she  would  have  urged  something  further  in  object 
ing  to  Barsfield  as  the  keeper  of  her  lover;  but  a  sudden  change  came 
over  the  countenance  of  the  legionary,  even  as  an  unlooked-for  cloud 
enlarges  from  a  scarce  perceptible  speck,  and  obscures  the  hitherto 
untroubled  heavens.  His  figure  suddenly  grew  erect,  and  his  air 
was  coldly  polite,  as  he  checked  her  in  the  half -uttered  sug 
gestion. 

"No  more,  Miss  Berkeley,  I  have  determined.  The  arrange 
ments  now  proper  for  all  parties  shall  be  made,  and  all  justice 
shall  be  done  the  prisoner.  Have  no  doubts;  rely  on  me,  I 
pray  you,  and  be  calm;  be  confident  in  the  assurances  I  give 
you.  I  for  once  believe  that  Barsfield  Tarleton  can  be  hu- 


248  MELLICHAMPE. 

mane;  that  tenderness  and  justice  may  both  be  found  at  his 
hands.  Go  now  to  your  dwelling.  You  have  duties  there; 
and  oblige  me,  if  you  please,  by  saying  to  your  father  that,  if 
agreeable  to  him,  I  will  take  dinner  with  him  to-day." 

He  kissed  her  hand  as  he  was  about  to  leave  her,  with  a 
grave,  manly  gallantry,  that  seemed  to  take  the  privilege  a;;  '<>. 
matter  of  course  ;  and  she  did  not  resist  him.  Murmuring  h- .-,. 
acknowledgments,  she  hurried  away  to  the  dwelling,  and  WA:- 
soon  out  of  sight.  Tarleton  stood  for  a  few  moments  watching 
her  progress,  with  a  painful  sort  of  pleasure  evident  upon  Ins 
pale  countenance,  as  if  some  old  arid  sacred  memories,  sud 
denly  aroused  from  a  long  slumber,  were  busy  stirring  at  his 
heart. 


THE    IIALF-JJKEIO)    AND    111K    TORY 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THE    I1ALF-BKEED    AND    THE    TORY. 

TAKLRTON,  however,  whatever  may  have  been  his  feelings  01 
his  thoughts,  gave  but  little  time  to  their  present  indulgence. 
As  soon  as  Janet  Berkeley  was  out  of  sight,  he  again  sought 
out  Barsfield,  whom  he  found  in  no  very  excellent  humor. 
The  tory  was  mortified  on  many  accounts.  He  was  irritated 
at  the  escape  of  Mellichampe,  a  second  time,  from  the  fate 
which  he  had  prepared  for  him,  and  which  at  one  moment,  he 
had  considered  certain.  He  was  annoyed  at  the  sudden  ap 
pearance  of  his  superior,  and  that  superior  Tarleton,  just  when 
his  controversies  Avith  a  woman  placed  him  in  an  attitude  so 
humiliating  to  a  man  and  a  soldier.  His  brow  was  clouded, 
therefore,  as  these  thoughts  filled  his  mind,  and  the  scowl  had 
not  left  his  features  when  Tarleton  again  made  his  appearance. 
The  fierce  legionary  was  a  man  of  promptitude,  quick  decision, 
and  few- words  :  — 

"  So,  Captain  Barsfield,  this  prisoner  of  yours  is  the  son  of 
Max  Mellichampe !" 

"  The  same,  sir ;  a  malignant  I  had  thought  quite  too  noto 
rious  to  have  escaped  your  recollection." 

"  It  had  not ;  though,  at  the  moment  when  I  first  heard  it,  I 
was  confounding  one  name  with  another  in  my  memory." 

"  I  thought  it  strange,  sir." 

"You  must  have  done  so,"  was  the  cool  reply  of  Tarleton  ; 
"for  the  fine  estate  and  former  possessions  of  Mellichampe, 
now  yours  through  our  sovereign's  favor,  are  too  closely  at  hand 
not  to  have  kept  the  old  proprietor  in  recollection.  But  out 
speech  is  now  of  the  son  :  what  of  him,  Captain  Barsfield  ?" 

There  was  a  good  deal  in  this  speech  to  annoy  the  tory  j 


but    lie    strove    successfully  to   preserve   his   composure  as  he 
replied  to  the  latter  part  of  it. 

"  He,  sir,  is  not  less  malignant,  not  less  hostile  to  our  causu 
and  sovereign,  than  his  father.  He  is  an  exceedingly  active 
officer  among  the  men  of  Marion  ;  and,  like  his  father,  en 
dowed  with  many  of  the  qualities  which  would  make  him 
troublesome  as  an  enemy.  He  is  brave,  and  possessed  of  con 
siderable  skill  ;  quite  too  much  not  to  render  it  highly  advan 
tageous  to  ns  to  have  him  a  prisoner,  and  liable  to  certain 
penalties  as  a  criminal.  It  was  my  surprise,  Colonel  Tarle- 
ton — "  and  a  little  hesitation  here,  in  the  words  and  manner 
of  the  tory,  seemed  to  denote  his  own  apprehensions  of  en 
croaching  upon  delicate,  ground  quite  too  far — "it  was  my 
.surprise,  sir,  that,  knowing  his  name  and  character,  yon  should 
have  proceeded  toward  him  with  so  much  tenderness." 

The  legionary  did   not  seem  to  feel  the  force  of  the  rebuke 
which  this  language  conveyed.     His  thoughts  were  elsewhere, 
evidently,  as  he  replied,  with  an  inquiring  exclamation: — 
"Eli?" 

"You  knew  him,  sir  —  a  rebel  —  a  spy  ;  for  such  T  asserted 
and  can  prove  him  to  be;  yet  you  spared  him." 

"I  did,"  said  Tarleton  ;  "you  wonder  that  I  did  so.  Does 
your  surprise  come  from  the  belief  that  I  did  him  or  myself 
injustice  ?  To  what  do  you  ascribe  my  forbearance  ?  or  would 
you  rather  have  had  me  truss  him  up  to  a  tree,  because  he 
merited  such  a  doom,  or  sabre  him  upon  the  ground,  in  order 
to  preserve  my  consistency?" 

The  tory  looked  astounded,  as  well  lie  might.  There  was 
a  strange  tone  of  irony  in  the  language  of  Tarleton,  and  the 
words  themselves  had  a  signification  quite  foreign  to  the 
wonted  habit  of  the  latter.  He  knew  not  how  to  construe  the 
object  or  the  precise  nature  of  the  question.  The  whole  tem 
per  of  the  fierce  legionary  seemed  to  have  undergo  a  change, 
and  was  now  a  mystery  to  Barsfield,  as  it  had  been  a  wonder 
to  the  men  around  them.  There  was  a  sarcastic  smile  on  the 
lips  of  the  speaker,  accompanying  his  words,  which  warned  the 
tory  to  be  heedful  of  the  sort  of  reply  to  which  he  should  give 
utterance,  He  paused,  herefore,  for  a  few  moments,  in  ordej 


THE    llALF-liKi.K 


so  to  digest  his  answer  as  to  guard  it  from  every  objectionable 
expression;  yet  be  spoke  with  sufficient  promptitude  to  avoid 
the  appearance  of  premeditating  what  be  said. 

"  Surely,  Colonel  Tarleton,  the  rebel  who  resists  should  die 
in  bis  resistance  —  " 

•'  But  when  wounded.  Barsfield  —  wben  wounded  and  at 
vour  feet"  —  was  the  abrupt  interruption  of  Tarleton,  who  cer 
tainly  did  not  diminish  tbe  surprise  of  Bars  fie  Id  while  thus  ma 
king  a  suggestion  of  mercy  to  the  conqueror.  The  tory  could 
not  forbear  a  sarcasm  :  with  a  smile,  therefore,  be  proceeded  :  — 

"  And  yet,  Colonel  Tarleton,  it  has  seldom  been  tbe  case 
that  you  have  left  to  his  majesty's  enemies,  even  when  you 
have  overthrown  them,  a  second  opportunity  of  lifting  arms 
against  him." 

The,  bitter  smile  passed  from  the  lips  of  the  legionary,  and 
his  eye  rested  sternly  upon  the  face  of  the  tory.  The  sarcasm 
was  evidently  fell,  and,  for  a  few  moments,  there  was  in  Tarle 
ton  's  bosom  something  of  that  fierce  fire  which  at  one  period 
would  have  replied  to  the  sharp  word  with  the  sharper  sword, 
and  to  the  idle  sneer  with  a  busy  weapon.  But  the  sternness 
of  his  brow,  a  moment  after,  became  subdued  to  mere  serious 
ness,  as  he  replied  :  — 

"  It  is  true,  Captain  Barsfield,  my  sabre  has  perhaps  been 
sufficiently  unsparing.  I  have  been  a  man  of  blood  ;  and 
heretofore,  I  have  thought,  with  sufficient  propriety.  I  have 
deemed  it  my  duty  to  leave  my  king  as  few  enemies  as  possi 
ble,  and  I  have  not  often  paused  to  consider  of  the  mode  by 
which  to  get  rid  of  them  ;  but  —  " 

He  did  not  conclude  the  sentence.  His  face  was  turned 
away  from  the  listener.  Thought  seemed  to  gather,  like  a 
cloud,  upon  his  mind  ;  and  a  gloomy  and  dark  hue  obscured 
his  otherwise  pale  features.  The  tory  regarded  him  with 
increased  surprise  as  he  again  addressed  him  ;  he  could  no 
longer  conceal  his  astonishment  at  the  change  in  the  mood 
and  habits  of  the  speaker. 

"  May  I  ask,"  he  continued,  "  what  has  wrought  the  altera 
tion  which  I  can'  not  but  see  now  in  your  deportment,  Colonel 
V 


252 


MELLICHAMPE. 


"  Is  it  not  enough,'  was  the  quick  response  ei  the  Jegionary 
"  that  Oornwallis  has  grown  merciful  of  late?" 

"It  has  heen  of  late  that  he  has  become  so,"  said  Barsfield 
with  a  smile;  "  only  since  the  battle  of  Gum  Swamp,  may  we 
reckon?" 

"  He,  at  least,  requires  that  I  shall  be  so,"  said  Tarleton, 
calmly,  "  though  the  indulgence  of  a  different  temper  he  still 
appears  to  keep  in  reserve  for  himself.  He  would  monopolize 
the  pleasure  of  the  punishment,  and  perhaps  the  odium  of  it 
also.  That,  at  least,  I  do  not  envy  him." 

"And  in  that  respect  your  own  mood  seems  to  have  under 
gone  a  change  which  could  not  have  been  produced  by  any 
command  of  his  ?" 

Barsfield  was  venturing  upon  dangerous  ground  in  this 
remark;  but  he  presumed  thus  freely  as  he  listened  to  the 
tacit  censure  which  Tarleton  had  expressed  in  reference  to  the 
conduct  of  his  superior. 

"  It  has,  Captain  Barsfield,  and  the  proof  of  it  is  to  be  found 
in  the  proceedings  of  this  day.     Under  your  representations  I 
should  at  another  time,  with   the  full  sanction   of  Oornwallis. 
have   strung  up   this  rebel   Mellicharnpo  to   the  nearest,  tree, 
though  but  a  few  moments  of  life  were  left  him  by  the  doubt 
ful  mercies  of  your  sabre  or  mine.     I  have  not  done  so;    and 
my  own  mood  is  accountable  for  the  change,  rather  than  the 
orders  of  my  superior.     The  truth  is,  I  am  sick  of  blood  after 
the  strife  is  over;    and  I  relieve  myself  of  the  duties  of  the 
executioner  by  the  alteration  of  iny  feelings  in  this  respect. 
Mellichampe  will  perhaps   complain  of  iny  mercy.     He  must 
remain  your  prisoner,  to  be  carefully  kept  by  you,  for  trial  in 
Charleston,  as  soon  as  his  wounds  will  permit  of  his  removal 
to  the  city.     An  execution  is  wanted   there,  for  example,  in 
that  unruly  city;   and  thi«  youth,  coming  of  good  family,  a:ul 
an  active  insurgent,  is  well  chosen  as  the  proper  victim.     I  m>> 
instructed  to  secure  another  for  this  purpose,  and  my  pur.si'it 
now  is  partly  for  this  object.     Two  such   subjects   as  Walton 
and  Mellichampe   carted  to  an  ignominious  death  through  (lie 
streets  of  Charleston,  will  have  the  proper  effect  upon   these 
insolent   citizens,   who   growl   where    they   dare    not   bite,  amJ 


THE    HALiMlltitlKL)    AND    THE    ToUY.  ^->" 

sneer  at  the  authority  which  yet  tramples  them  into  the  dust. 
You  must  keep  this  youth  safely  for  this  purpose,  Captain 
Barsfield;  I  shall  look  to  you  that  he  escape  not,  and  thai 
every  attendance  and  all  care  he  given  him,  so  that  lie  maj 
as  soon  as  possible  prepare?  for  his  formal  trial,  and,  as  I  think 
lor  his  final  execution.  My  own  surgeon  shall  remain  with 
him,  the  better  to  facilitate  these  ends,  which,  as  you  value 
you!1  ov/n  loyalty,  you  will  do  your  utmost  to  promote/' 

"Am  I  to  remain  here,  then,  Colonel  Tarleton  ?  Shall  I 
not  proceed  to  Sinkier's  Meadow,  agreeably  to  ihe  original 
plan,  and  afterward  establish  myself  in  post  at  Kaddipah  ?" 

"No!  you  must  establish  yourself  here.  The  position  is 
safer  and  better  suited  to  our  purposes  than  Kaddipah.  Sin- 
round  yourself  with  stockades,  and  summon  the  surrounding 
inhabitants.  The  probability  is,  that  you  are  too  late  for  (be 
gnthering  at  Sinkler's  Meadow.  I  fear  me  that  Marion  is 
there,  now.  You  should  have  crossed  the  river  yesterday  ;  the 
delay  is  perhaps  as  fatal  in  its  consequences  as  it  was  unad 
vised  and  injudicious.  But  it  is  too  late  now  to  think  upon. 
To-morrow  I  will  move  to  Sinkler's  Meadow,  if  I  do  not  first 
find  Marion  in  the  Swamp." 

The  conference  was  interrupted  at  this  moment  by  'tli*  ip- 
proach  of  Blonay.  His  features  suddenly  caught  the  eye  ot 
the  legionary,  who  called  him  forward.  The  half-breed  with 
his  ancient  habit,  stood  leaning  against  a  neighboring  tree, 
seeming  not  to  observe  anything,  yet  observing  all  th'ngs  ; 
and,  with  a  skill  which  might  not  readily  be  augured  fro>n  his: 
dull,  inexpressive  eye  and  visage,  searching  closely  int^  the 
bosoms  of  those  whom  he  surveyed,  through  the  median  of 
those  occasional  expressions  of  countenance,  which  usually  run 
along  with  feeling  and  indicate  its  presence. 

"  Ah  !  you  are  the  scout,"  said  Tarleton.     "  Come  forward 
I  would  speak  with  you." 

The  half-breed  stood  before  him. 

"  And  you  promise  that  you  can  guide  me  directly  to  tL:. 
camp  of  the  rebel  Marion1?" 

"  Yes,  colonel,  I  can." 

"You  have  seen  it  yourself?" 


"  I  have,  colonel." 

"  Unseen  by  any  of  the  rebel  force]" 

"  Yes,  colonel." 

"  (Jan  you  guide  us  there,  too,  undiscovered  ?" 

"Adrat  it  —  yes  —  if  the  scouts  a'n't  out.  When  1  went  t.h*» 
scouts  were  all  in,  since  there  was  no  alarm,  and  Marion  was 
guine  M]  on  an  expedition." 

"What  expedition  V' 

"Well,  i"  don't  know,  colonel  —  somewhere  to  the  north,  I 
reckon  —  down  about  Waccamaw." 

"And  suppose  his  scouts  are  out  now — will  they  see  us  — 
can  we  not  n»a'«.e  o  ir  way  undiscovered  ?" 

"Taint  so  easy,  colonel  ;  there's  no  better  scouts  in  natur 
than  the, 'swamp  fox'  keeps.  They  will  dodge  all  day  lunj* 
in  one  thicket  from  the  best  ten  men  of  the  legion." 

"Is  there  no  way  of  misleading  the  scouts?" 

"None,  colonel,  that  1  knows.  If  you  could  send  out  a 
strong  party  .if  the  horse  in  a  different  direction,  as  if  you  was 
trying  to  get  round  them,  you  might  trick  the  old  fox  into 
believing-  it:  but  that's  not  so  easy  to  do.  He's  mighty  shy, 
and  a'n't  to  be  caught  with  chaff." 

"Nor  will  I  try  any  such  experiment,  llark'ee,  fellow;  if 
*  find  that  you  deceive  me,  I  shall  not  stop  a  moment  to  give 
your  throat  the  surety  of  a  strong  cord.  Your  counsels  to 
break  my  force*  to  be  cut  up  when  apart,  are  those  of  one  who 
is  drawing  both  right  and  left,  and  argues  but  little  respect  for 
my  common  sense.  But  I  will  trust  you  so  far  as  you  promise. 
You  shall  guide  me  to  the  hole  of  the  fox,  and  I  will  do  the 
'•cst.  Guide  me  faithfully,  and  stick  close  to  your,  promise, 
and  I  will  reward  you;  betray  me,  deceive  me,  or  even  look 
doubtfully  in  our  progress,  and,  so  sure  as  1  value  the  great 
ivust  in  my  hands,  your  doom  is  written.  Away  now,  and  be 
ready  with  the  dawn." 

Tliu  scout  bowed  and  retired.  The  moment  that  his  back- 
had  been  turned  upon  the  speaker,  Tarleton  motioned  two  sol 
diers,  who  stood  at  a  little  distance,  and  who  kept  their  ryes 
aver  watchfully  upon  Blonaj.  They  turned  away  at  the  sig 
nal,  and  followed  tlu»  srout  at  a  respectful  distance,  bnl  on*8 


THE    HALF-BRKKD    AND    THE    TORT. 

riot  too  great  to  render  the  escape  of  the  suspected  person  at 
all  easy.  Every  precaution  was  taken  to  prevent  the  scov.J 
from  noticing  this  surveillance  ;  but  the  half-oblique  eye  which 
he  cast  over  his  shoulder  at  intervals  upon  the  two,  must  have 
taught  any  one  at  all  familiar  with  the  character  of  the  half- 
breed,  that  he  was  not  unconscious  of  the  close  attention  thu: 
bestowed  upon  him.  lie  walked  away  unconcernedly,  how 
ever,  and  it  was  not  long  before,  upon  the  edge  of  the  forer; 
he  had  gained  a  favorite  tree,  against  the  sunny  side  of  which 
he  leaned  himself  quietly,  as  if  all  the  cares  and  even  the  con 
sciousness  of  existence  had  long  since  departed  from  his  mind. 
It  was  in  this  spot,  an  hour  after,  that  he  was  sought  out  by 
Barsh'eld.  The  tory  captain  had  some  cause  of  displeasure 
with  the  scout,  who  had  evaded  his  expressed  wish  to  gain  the 
clew  to  the  retreat  of  Marion.  He  had  other  causes  of  dis 
pleasure,  which  the  dialogue  between  them  subsequently  un 
folded! 

"Where  did  you  meet  with  Colonel  Tarleton  to-day,  Mr 
Blonay  1  You  had  no  knowledge,  of  his  approach  ?" 

"None,  cappin  —  I  heard  his  trumpet  a  little  way  off,  when 
I  was  making  a  roundabout  for  the  swamp  thicket,  and  ho 
came  upon  me  with  a  few  dragoons  afore  I  seed  him." 

"  It  is  strange,  Mr.  Blonay,  that  a  good  scout,  such  as  you 
are,  should  be  so  easily  found  when  not  desiring  it.  Are  you 
sure  that  you  tried  to  keep  out  of  his  way  ?" 

"No,  cappin  —  there  was  no  reason  for  me  to  try,  for  I  saw 
first  that  they  were  friends  and  not  rebels  :  and  so  I  didn't 
push  to  hide,  as  I  might  have  done,  easy  enough." 

"And  by  what  means  did  Colonel  Tarleton  discover  that 
you  could  lead  him  to  the. camp  of  Marion,  unless  you  studi 
ously  furnished  him  with  your  intelligence?" 

"  I  did  tell  him,  cappin,  when  he  axed  me.  He  axed  me  if 
I  knowed,  and  I  said  I  did,  jist  the  same  as  I  said  to  you ;  and 
he  then  axed  me  to  show  him,  and  I  said  I  could." 

"  But  why,  when  I  asked  you,  did  you  deny  your  ability  to 
show  me  the  way  ?  Was  it  because  you  looked  for  better  p^iy 
at  the  hands  of  Tarleton  V 

"  No,  cappin  :  but  you  didn't  ax  me  to  show  you  —  you  only 


MKLI.ICHAMl'K.. 

-n<  d  mo  to  describe  it,  and  that  I  couldn't  do.  I  can  go  ovv;r 
ili'j  ground,  cappin,  jist  like  a,  dog;  but  I  can't  tell  tlie  name 
f.f  the  tree  that  I  goes  by,  or  this  bush,  or  that  branch,  and  I 
nn'ij't  any  name  for  the  thicket  I  creeps  through.  I  knows 
i!iem  all  when  I  sees  them,  and  I  can't  miss  them  any  more 
Mian  the  good  hound  when  he's  once  upon  trail;  but,  if  you 
vns  to  hang  me,  I  couldn't  say  it  to  you  in  talking,  so  that 
j<m  could  find  it  out  for  yourself." 

Blouay  was  right  in  a  portion  of  his  statement,  but  his  cor 
rectness  was  only  partial.  lie  could  not,  indeed,  have  de 
scribed  his  course;  but  lie  had  been  really  averse  to  unfolding 
it  to  Bnrgfieldi  and  he  had,  with  the  view  to  a  greater  reward, 
thrown  himself  in  the  way  of  Tarleton,  of  whose  approach  he 
had  been  apprized.  He  was  true  in  all  respQcts,  to  the  simple 
and  selfish  principle  upon  which  his  education  had  been 
grounded  by  his  miserable  mother.  Barslield  had  no  farther 
objection  to  urge  on  the  subject.  lie  was  entirely  deceived 
by  the  manner  of  the  scout.  But  there  was  yet  another  topic 
of  interest  between  them,  and  to  this  he  called  his  attention. 

"  You  have  not  yet  been  successful  with  this  boy  ? — he  lives 
yet—" 

"Yes,  but  you  have  him  now,  and  he  can't  help  himself. 
He  is  under  your  knife." 

"  Ay  !"  exclaimed  the  tory,  with  an  expression  of  counte 
nance  the  most  awfully  stern,  and  with  a  tone  of  concentrated 
bitterness,  "  ay  !  but  I  am  as  far  oft',  farther  off,  indeed,  than 
ever.  My  hands  are  tied  ;  he  is  intrusted  to  my  charge  in 
particular,  and  my  own  fidelity  is  interested  in  preserving 
nirn." 

"Eh?"  Avas  the  simple  and  interrogative  monosyllable  with 
which  the  scout  replied  to  what  was  too  nice  a  subtilty  in 
morals  to  be  easily  resolvable  by  a  mind  so  unconventional  as 
his  own.  Barsfield  saw  the  difficulty,  and  tried  to  explain. 

"  I  can  not  violate  a  trust  which  is  confided  to  me.  I  must 
preserve  and  protect,  and  even  fight  against  his  enemies,  so 
long  as  he  remains  in  my  custody." 

"  He  is  your  enemy  ?"  said  Blon'ay,  still  wholly  uninfluenced 
by  the  remark  of  Barsfield. 


THE    IIAr.F-BRKlCn    AND    THE    TORY.  257 

'lle'i,  Kc  is  still  my  enemy." 

•'  And  you  his  ?" 
Yes." 

"  He  in  aneath  your  knife  ?" 

"  Yes,  entirely." 

The  savage  simply  replied  by  taking  his  knife  from  its 
sheath  and  drawing  its  back  across  his  own  neck,  while  his 
Countenance  expressed  all  the  fierce  emotions  of  one  engaged 
in  the  commission  of  a  murder.  The  face  of  Barsfield  took  no 
small  portion  of  the  same  fierce  expression  :  catching  the  hand 
of  the  speaker  firmly  in  his  own,  he  replied  — 

'  Ay,  and  iio  ctroke  would  give  me  more  pleasure  than  that. 
It  would  be  life  to  me  —  his  death  —  and  why  may  it  not  be 
done  ?  It  may  be  done!  Blonay,  we  will  speak  again  of  this; 
but  be  silent  now,  keep  close,  and  tell  me  where  I  may  look 
for  you  to-night  ?" 

"  There  !"  and  he  pointed  to  a  little  swamp  or  bay,  in  which 
he  had  slept  before.  It  lay  at  the  distance  of  a  mile,  more  or 
less,  from  the  camp,  which  had  been  already  formed  in  the 
park,  and  near  the  yet  consuming  mansion. 

"There  —  I  keep  in  the  bay  at  night;  for,  though  it  taint 
got  no  cypresses,  sich  as  I  used  to  love  down  upon  the  Ashley, 
and  about  Dorchester,  yet  it's  a  close  place,  and  the  tnpolas 
and  gums  is  mighty  thick.  You'll  find  me  there  any  time 
afore  cockcrow.  You  have  only  to  blow  in  your  hands  three 
times  —  so — "  producing  a  singular  and  shrill  whistle  at  the 
same  time,  by  an  application  of  his  mouth  to  an  aperture  left 
between  his  otherwise  closed  palms,  "  only  blow  so  three  times, 
and  I'll  be  with  you." 

The  tory  captain  tried  to  produce  the  desired  sounds,  in  the 
suggested  manner,  which  he  at  length  succeeded  in  doing. 
Satisfied,  therefore,  with  the  arrangement,  he  left  his  accom 
plice  to  the  contemplation  of  his  own  loneliness,  and  hurried 
•i way  to  hi*  duties  in  the  camp. 


258  MELLICilAMPE. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

TUB    WOLF    IN    NEW    COLORS. 

MEANWHILE  the  hurts  of  Mellichampe  had  all  been  caiefully 
attended  to.  Tarlcton,  so  far,  had  kept  his  pledged  word  to 
i lie.  maiden.  He  was  removed  to  a  chamber  in  the  house  which 
gave,  temporary  shelter  to  the  family,  and  the  surgeon  of  the 
legionary  colonel  had  himself  attended  to  his  injuries  They 
were  found  to  be  rather  exhausting  than  dangerous.  A  slight 
sabre-stroke  upon  his  head  had  stunned  him  for  the  time,  but 
afforded  no  matter  for  very  serious  consideration.  The  severest 
wound  was  the  cut  over  the  left  shoulder,  which  had  bled  pro 
fusely  ;  but  even  this  required  little  more  than  cuse  attendance 
and  occasional  dressing.  A  good  nurse  was  nore  important 
than  a  skilful  surgeon,  and  no  idle  and  feeble  scruples  of  the 
inferior  mind  stood  in  the  way  to  prevent  Janet  Berkeley  from 
devoting  herself  to  the  performance  of  this  duty  to  her  be 
trothed. 

The  intelligence  of  Mellichampe's  true  situation  was  con 
veyed  by  Tarleton  himself  to  Mr.  Berkeley,  in  the  presence  of 
his  daughter.  It  seemed  intended  to,  and  did,  reassure  the 
maiden,  whose  warm  interest  in  the  captive  was  sufficiently 
obvious  to  all;  as  her  tearful  and  deep  apprehensions  on  his 
account,  and  for  his  safety,  had  been  entirely  beyond  her 
power  of  concealment. 

Tarleton  dined  that  day  with  the  Berkeley  fair.ily.  His  man 
ners  were  grave,  but  gentle  —  somewhat  reserved,  perhaps,  but 
always  easy,  and  sometimes  elegant.  He  spoke  but  little,  yet 
what  he  said  contributed,  in  no  small  degree,  to  elevate  him 
in  the  respect  of  all  around.  His  air  was  subdued,  when  he 
spoke,  to  a  woman-mildnesi?  •  and  hi?  words  were  usually  ut 


THE    WOLF    US'    NEW    COLORS. 

tered  in  a  low,  soft  tone,  little  above  a  common  whisper,  yet 
sufficiently  measured  and  slow  in  their  utterance  to  be  heard 
without  difficulty  by  those  to  whom  they  were  addressed, 
What  a  difference  was  there  between  the  same  man  sitting  at 
the,  hospitable  board,  ami,  when  leading  forward  his  army  but 
M  few  hours  before,  he  rushed  headlong,  with  kindled  and  r» 
"•ing  spirit,  upon  the  tracks  of  his  flying  foe!  There  wa* 
nothing  now  in  his  look  or  language  which  could  indicate  the 
savr.ge  soldier.  Was  he,  indeed,  the  same  bloodthirsty  war- 
lior,  whose  renown,  by  no  means  an  enviable  one,  had  been 
acquired  by  the  most  wanton  butcheries  in  the  fields  of  Caro 
i;i«a7  This  was  the  inquiry  in  the  minds  of  all  those  who 
now  looked  upon  him.  Certainly  a  most  remarkable  alteration 
seemed,  in  the  eyes  of  all  who  before  had  known  him,  in  a 
Hi  tie  time  to  have  come  over  the  spirit  of  the  fierce  warrior; 
and  it  is  somewhat  singular  and  worthy  of  remark,  that  he 
gained  no  distinction,  and  won  no  successes  of  any  moment, 
after  this  period.  His  achievements  were  few  and  unimpor 
tant  ;  and  two  repulses  which  he  received  at  the  hands  of 
Sumter,  followed  up,  as  they  were,  by  the  terrible  defeat  which 
he  sustained  at  the  Cowpens,  finished  his  career  as  a.  favorite 
of  fortune  in  the  partisan  warfare  of  the  South.  His  name 
lost  its  terrors  soon  after  this  among  those  with  whom  it  had 
previously  been  so  potent ;  and,  though  his  valor  was  at  all 
periods  above  suspicion,  yet,  in  his  reverses,  it  became  the 
fashion  to  disparage  his  soldierly  skill,  even  among  those  whom 
he  commanded.  It  was  then  discovered  that  he  had  only  con 
tended,  hitherto,  with  raw  militiamen,  whom  it  required  but 
little  merit,  beyond  that  of  mere  brute  courage,  to  overthrow ; 
and  that  his  successes  entirely  ceased  from  the  moment  when 
that  same  militia,  taught  by  severe  and  repeated  experience 
of  defeat,  had  acquired,  in  time,  some  little  of  the  address  of 
regular  and  practised  warfare.  There  was,  no  doubt,  much 
Uiat  was  sound  in  this  opinion. 

But —  the  dinner  was  fairly  over,  and'  Tarleton  withdrew, 
ufter  a  few  moments  devoted  to  pleasant  conversation  with  the 
QOW  composed  Rose  Duncan,  from  whose  mind  all  the  terrors 
oC  the  previous  combat,  in  which  she  had  shared  so  much, 


260  MKLLTCL1AMFE. 

seemed  entirely  to  have  gone.  Slic  was  only  a  creature  'of 
passing  impressions.  To  Janet  lie  said  but.  little  ;  but  bis  eyes 
sometimes  rested  upon  ber  with  an  air  of  melancboly  abstrac 
tion,  wbicli  gave  to  bis  otherwise  pale  features  an  expression 
of  feeling  and  nice  sensibilities,  wbicb  bis  profession  migbt 
seem  to  belie.  Bnt,  before  be  took  bis  departure,  be  led  ber 
aside  to  a  window  in  the  cottage,  and  tlms  addressed  her,  in 
tbe  style  of  one  sufficiently  ber  friend  and  senior  to  speak 
firmly  and  directly,  even  on  a  topic  tbe  most  difficult  and  de 
licate  in  tbe  estimation  of  a  maiden. 

4<  I  have  given  Captain  Barsfield  bis  orders  touching  our  pris 
oner,  Miss  Berkeley  ;  perbaps  it  would  not  be  impleasing  to 
you  to  know  what  those  orders  are  ?" 

She  looked  down,  and  ber  desire  to  bear  was  sufficiently 
shown  in  ber  unwillingness  to  speak.  He  proceeded,  after  a 
brief  pause,  in  the  course  of  whicb  his  lips  put  on  the  same 
sweet  smile  of  graciousness  wbicb  bad  won  the  heart  of  the 
maiden  before  ;  while,  at  tbe  same  time,  it  commanded  a  some 
thing  more  in  tbe  way  of  return  than  a  mere  corresponding 
deference  of  manner.  So  foreign  to  his  lips  was  that  expres 
sion,  so  adverse  to  bis  general  character  was  that  smile  of 
gentleness,  that  even  while  it  gratified  her  to  behold  it,  she 
looked  up  to  the  wearer  of  it  with  a  feeling  little  short  of 
awe. 

"  Mr.  Mellicbampe  is  in  no  danger — no  present  danger  — 
as  my  surgeon  informs  me  ;  but  be  must  be  kept  quiet  and 
without  interruption  until  well,  as  he  appears  feverish,  and 
bis  mind  seems  disposed  to  wander.  The  better  to  effect 
this  object,  I  have  ordered,  that  except  my  surgeon  and  his 
assistant,  none  but  your  father  and  yourself  shall  be  ad 
mitted  to  bis  chamber.  I  have  made  this  exception  in  your 
favor,  Miss  Berkeley,  as  my  surgeon  at  tbe  same  time  informs 
me  that  be  will  need  tbe  offices  of  a  careful  nurse  — 

"  Ob,  sir — "  was  tbe  involuntary  exclamation  of  Janet,  as 
she  beard  this  language  ;  but  Tarleton  did  not  allow  her  to 
proceed. 

"  No  idle  objections,  my  dear  young  lady,  no  false  notions 
of  propriety  and  a  misplaced  delicacy  at  this  moment.  I 


THE   WOLF    IN    NEW    COLORS.  26 i 

know  sufficiently  your  secret ;  which  is  no  secret  now  to 
any  in  our  troop.  Your  duty  commands  that  you  attend  tins 
young  man,  and  none  but  the  feeble  mind  will  find  any  fault 
with  you  for  its  performance.  In  matters  of  this  sort,  your 
own  heart  is  the  best  judge,  and  to  that  I  leave*5t,  whether 
you  will  avail  yourself  of  the  privilege  which  I  have  granted 
you  or  not.  The  youth  is  in  no  danger,  says  my  surgeon,  hut 
he  may  be  if  he  is  not  carefully  nursed.  Pardon  me  for  so 
long  detaining  you,  I  shall  do  so  no  longer.  My  orders  arc 
given  to  secure  you  at  all  times  admission  to  the  chamber  of 
Mr.  Mellichampe,  should  you  desire  it." 

"  But,  oh  !  sir,  what  of  Captain  Barsfield  1  These  charges — " 

"  Are  slight,  no  doubt,  but  must  be  inquired  into.  Mr.  Melli 
champe  is  the  prisoner  of  Captain  Barsfield,  and  must  await 
his  trial.  I  can  do  nothing  further,  unless  it  be  to  promise  that 
all  justice  shall  he  done  him." 

"  But  may  he  not  be  put  in  other  hands,  Colonel  Tarleton, 
than  those  of  Captain  Barsfield  ?  Oh  !  sir  —  I  dread  that  man 
He  will  do  Mellichampe  some  harm." 

"  Fear  not,  Captain  Barsfield  dare  not  harm  him,  he  has 
quite  too  much  at  venture.  It  is  for  this  very  reason,  with  the 
view  to  the  perfect  security  of  the  prisoner,  that  I  have  made 
Barsfield  his  keeper.  His  fidelity  is  pledged  for  the  security 
of  his  charge,  and  I  have  dwelt  upon  the  responsibility  to  him 
intsuch  language  as  will  make  him  doubly  careful.  But,  you 
do  Captain  Barsfield  wrong  ;  he  has  no  such  design  as  that 
you  speak  of;  his  hostility  to  Mr.  Mellichampe  is  simply  that 
of  the  soldier  toward  his  enemy.  Unless  in  fair  fight,  I  am 
sure  he  would  never  do  him  harm." 

Janet  shook  her  head  doubtfully,  as  she  replied,  "  I  know 
him  better,  sir,  I  know  that  he  hates  Mellichampe  for  many 
reasons,  but  I  may  not  doubt  the  propriety  of  your  arrange 
ments.  I  will,  sir,  take  advantage  of  the  permission  made  in 
my  favor,  and  will  myself  become  the  nurse  of  Mr  Melli 
champe.  Why  should  I  be  afraid  or  ashamed,  sir  1  Am  I  not 
his  betrothed — his  wife  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  1  I  will  be 
his  nurse  —  why  should  I  be  ashamed  '?" 

"  Ay;  why  should   you,  Miss  Berkeley  ?     Truth  and  virtue 


262 


MKLLTCHAMPE. 


may  well  be  fearless,  at  all  times,  of  human  >piniori  ;  and  they 
cease  to  be  truth  and  virtue  when  the  fear  of  what  men  may 
tli ink,  or  say,  induces  a  disregard  of  that  which  they  conceive- 
to  lie  their  duty.  With  me  you  lose  nothing  by  the  declara 
tion  you  have  just  made.  It  is  one  I  looked  for  from  you. 
The  confidence  of  virtue  is  never  unworthy  of  the  source  from 
which  it  springs,  and  it  doubly  confirms  and  strengthens  virtue 
itself,  when  it  shows  the  possessor  to  be  renolute  after  right, 
without  regard  to  human  arrangements,  or  the  petty  and  pas 
sing  circumstances  of  society.  It  is  the  child's  love  that  is 
driven  from  its  ground  by  the  dread  of  social  scandal.  The, 
only  love  that  man  esteems  valuable  is  that  which  can  dare  nil 
things,  but  wrong,  in  behalf  of  the  valued  object.  This  i<? 
your  love  now,  and  you  have  my  prayer — if  the  prayer  of  a 
rough  soldier  like  myself  be  not  a  wrong  to  so  pure  a  spirit 
—  that  it  be  always  hallowed  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  and  suc 
cessful  beyond  the  control  of  earth." 

He  took  a  respectful  parting,  and  on  leaving  her  to  rejoin 
the  party,  his  manner  changed  to  that  of  the  proud  man  he 
commonly  appeared.  An  inflexible  sternness  sat  upon  his  pale 
and  stonelike  countenance  —  the  lips  were  set  rigidly — the 
eye  was  shrouded  by  the  overhanging  brow,  that  gathered 
above  it  like  some  heavy  cloud  over  some  flaming  and  malig 
nant  planet.  He  spoke  but  lew  words  to  the  rest  of  the 
family.  A  cold  word  of  acknowledgment  to  Mr.  Berkeley,  a 
courteous  bow.  and  farewell  to  Rose  Duncan,  whose  confidence 
was  now  half  restored,  the  din  of  battle  being  over,  and  a 
single  look  and  partial  smile  to  Janet,  preceded  his  immediate 
departure  to  the  edge  of  the  forest,  where,  during  the  dinner 
repast,  his  temporary  camp  had  been  formed.  From  this  point 
he  threw  out  his  sentinels  and  sent  forth  his  scouting  parties. 
These  latter  traversed  the  neighboring  hummocks,  and  ran 
sacked  every  contiguous  cover,  in  which  a  lurking  squad  of 
rebels  might  have  taken  up  a  hiding-place,  in  waiting  for  the 
moment  when  a  fancied  security  on  the  part  of  the  foe  should 
invite  to  the  work  of  annoyance  or  assault.  Such  was  the  na 
ture  of  the  Indian  warfare  which  the  "  swamp  fox,"  with  so 
•wch  general  success,  had  adopted  as  his  own.  Tarleton 


THE    WOLF    JN    NEW    UOLOR8. 

knew  too  well  the  danger  of  surprise,  with  a  foe  so  wary  in 
his  neighborhood,  and  accordingly  spared  none  of  those  pre 
cautions  to  which,  in  ordinary  cases,  hitherto,  he  had  been 
rather  indifferent.  lie  cited  Blonay  before  him  on  reaching 
his  camp,  examined  him  cjosely  as  to  the  route  they  were  next 
day  to  pursue,  and  concluded  by  warning  him  to  be  in  readi 
ness  with  the  dawn  of  day. 

"You  shall  be  well  rewarded  if  we  succeed,"  were  his  con 
cluding  words  to  the  scout,"  well  rewarded  if  you  are  faithful, 
(won  th.cue-h  we  do  not  succeed  ;  but  if  you  fail  me,  sirrah,  if 
I  catch  you  playing  false,  the  first  tree  and  a  short  cord  are 
your  certain  doom." 

The  half-breed  touched  his  cap,  and,  without  showing  any 
emotfon  at  this  language,  retired  from  the  presence  of  t.i^i 


264  MELLICHAMPE. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

SCOUTING. 

THAT  night,  as  soon  as  he  deemed  it  prudent,  Barsrield, 
punctual  to  his  engagement  with  the  half-breed,  left  the 
camp,  and,  without  observation,  proceeded  to  the  place  of 
meeting  which  had  been  determined  upon  between  them.  He 
was  not  long  in  finding  the  person  he  sought.  Blonay  was  no 
less  punctual  than  his  employer,  and  the  shrill  whistle  of  the 
latter,  thrice  icpeated  through  his  folded  hands,  soon  brought 
him  from  his  cover.  The  half-breed  answered  the  signal 
readily,  an  a  »_  a  few  moments  after  emerged  from  the  hum 
mock  in  which,  with  a  taste  of  his  own,  he  had  taken  up  his 
abode.  A  dim  light  was  shining  from  the  sky,  only  sufficient 
to  enable  the  tory  to  recognise  the  outline,  but  not  the  sev 
eral  features,  of  his  companion's  perscu.  Blonay  freely  ex 
tender!  h:s  hand,  and  the  fleshless,  tony  fingers  took  in  their 
grasi  trose  of  Barsfield,  who  did  not  hesitate  to  follow  his 
guidance,  though  he  somewhat  !cathed  the  gripe  of  his  con 
ductor. 

"  T.liy  go  further  —  why  no i,  iCinain  and  talk  here?"  was 
his  demand. 

"There's  no  telling,  cappin,  who's  a  listening.  Singleton's 
men's  watching  me  now;  and  Colonel  Tarleton,  he  doesn't 
trust  me,  and  there's  two  of  the  dragoons  that's  kept  close  on 
my  heels  ever  since  I  seed  him  last.  It's  true  I  dodged  'em 
when  the  sun  went  down,  but  they're  on  the  look-out  yet,  I 
reckon." 

"  And  why  did  you  dojlge  them  —  you  didn't  mean  to  run  ?" 
demanded  the  other. 

"No,  but  I'd  rather  a  man  shoot   me  than  peep  over  my 


SCOUTING. 


2G5 


shoulder;  it's  like  a  log  round  the  neck,  to  be  always  looked 
after." 

"  And  why  do  you  think  that  Singleton's  men  are  also  look 
ing  out  for  you?" 

"'Cause  one  of  them  knows  I'm  in  these  parts,  and  lie 
knows  I'm  dangerous." 

"  But  can  he  find  you  ?" 

"  He's  a  born  swamp-sucker  like  myself,  and  lie's  dangerous 
too.  He  knows  I'm  hereabouts,  and  I  reckon  he  can't  sleep 
easy  till  he  finds  me — or  I  find  him." 

Barsfield  no  longer  objected,  and  together  they  penetrated 
the  covert  until  they  reached  a  dry  spot,  where,  with  a  fancy 
as  natural  as  it  was  peculiar,  the  half-breed  had  chosen  his 
temporary  dwelling,  in  preference  to  that  of  the  camp  or  plan 
tation.  A  few  brands  of  the  resinous  pine,  in  which  commodity 
the  country  around  was  abundantly  supplied,  were  huddled 
together  and  in  a  blaze,  which,  though  bright  enough  to  illu 
mine  all  objects  around  them,  was  imperceptible  on  the  outer 
edge  of  the  hummock,  from  the  exceeding  density  of  its  foliage. 
A  huge  gum-tree,  that  stood  upon  the  bank,  sent  up  bulgingly 
above  the  surface  a  monstrous  series  of  roots,  which,  covered 
with  fresh  moss,  had  made  the  pillow  of  the  inhabitant,  A 
thick  coat  of  clustering  oak-leaves,  the  tribute  of  a  tree  that 
had  made  such  a  deposite  probably  for  a  hundred  winters, 
composed  the  sylvan  couch  of  the  outlier,  while  the  folding 
and  thickly-leaved  branches  overhead  afforded  him  quite  as 
gracious  a  cover  from  the  unfriendly  dews  as  it  was  in  the 
nature  of  a  form  so  callous  to  need  or  to  desire.  But  the  place 
seemed  cheerless  to  Barsfield,  in  spite  of  the  genial  tempera 
ture  of  the  season,  and  the  bright  flame  burning  before  him. 

"And  you  sleep  hero,  Mr.  Blonay?"  was  his  involuntary 
question. 

"  Yes,  cappin,  here  or  further  in  the  bush.  If  I  hear  strange 
noises  that  I  don  't  like,  I  slips  down  further  into  the  bay,  and 
then  I'm  sure  to  be  safe,  for  it's  a  mighty  troublesome  way  to 
take,  and  very  few  people  like  to  hunt  in  such  bottoms  ;  it's  all 
sloppy,  and  full  of  holes,  and  the  water's  as  black  as  pitch." 
"What  noise  is  that?"  said  Barsfield. 


266 


-MKLLIC1IAMPK. 


"Oh,  that?  that's  only  my  big  alligator:  I  can  tell  his 
voice  from  all  the  rest,  for  it  sounds  hoarse,  as  if  he  had 
cotched  a  cold  from  coming  out  too  soon  last  May.  He's  a 
mighty  hig  fello\v,  and  keeps  in  a  deep,  dirty  pond,  jist  to  the 
tack  of  you.  .1  shouldn't  be  supprised  to  see  him  crawling  out 
this  way  directly;  he  sometimes  does  when  I'm  lying  here  in 
the  daytime." 

Barsfield  started  and  looked  round  him,  as  an  evident  rust 
ling  in  the  rear  ssemed  to  confirm  the  promise  of  Blonay. 
The  latter  smiled  as  he  proceeded  :  — 

"  Don't  be  scared,  cappin,  for  if  a  body  aint  scared  he  can't 
do  no  harm  with  'em.  When  he  comes  out  and  looks  at  me,  I 
jist  laughs  at  him,  and  claps  my  hands,  and  he  takes  to  his 
heels  directly.  They  won't  trouble  you  much  only  when 
they're  mighty  hungry,  and  aint  seed  hog-meat  for  a  long 
time,  and  then  they  won't  trouble  you  if  you  make  a  great 
noise  and  splash  the  water  at  'eni." 

"  Why  don't  you  shoot  him  ?" 

"  Adrat  it !  I  did  n't  load  for  him  ;  it's  no  use  :  if  I  had  been 
to  shoot  alligators,  I  need  n't  have  come  up  from  Goose  creek. 
I  could  have  had  my  pick  there,  at  any  time,  of  a  dozen,  jist 
as  big  and  not  so  hoarse  as  this  fellow  :  I  picked  my  bullet 
for  quite  another  sort  of  varmint." 

"  And  what  of  him?     Have  you  seen  him?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  single  and  almost  stern  reply. 

"Within  rifle  shot?" 

"  Not  twenty  yards  off,"  was  the  immediate  answer. 

"  And  why  did  you  spare  him  ?" 

"  Other  people  was  with  him  :  I  would  have  shot  him  by 
himself." 

"  I  sec ;  you  had  no  wish  to  be  cut  up  immediately  after 
Vour  hatred  to  your  enemy,  Blonay,  does  not  blind  you  to  the 
wisdom  of  escaping  after  you  have  murdered  him." 

The  half-breed  did  not  seem  to  understand  what  Barsfield 
said  ;  but  his  own  meaning  was  so  obvious  to  himself,  that  he 
did  not  appear  to  think  it  necessary  to  repeat  his  words,  or 
undertake  more  effectually  to  explain  them.  His,  indeed, 
was  the  true  Indian  warfare,  as,  in  great  patt,  his  was  tht 


SCOUTING.  267 

Indian  blood  and  temper.  To  win  every  advantage,  to  secure 
success  and  triumph  without  risk  and  with  impunity,  are  the 
principles  of  the  savage  nature  always  ;  and  to  obtain  revenge 
without  corresponding  disadvantage,  makes  the  virtue  of  such 
an  achievement.  These,  itjdeed,  may  be  held  the  principles 
of  every  people  conscious  of  inferiority  to  those  whom  they 
oppose  and  hate. 

So  far  the  dialogue  between  Barsfield  and  his  comrade  had 
been  carried  on  Avithout  any  reference  to  the  particular  subject 
of  interest  which  filled  the  bosom  of  the  former.  He  seemed 
reluctant  to  speak  further  upon  this  topic;  and,  when  he  did 
speak,  his  reluctance,  still  preserved,  produced  a  halting  and 
partial  utterance  only  of  his  feelings  and  desires,  as  if  he 
somewhat  repented  of  the  degree  of  confidence  which  he  had 
already  reposed  in  the  person  to  whom  he  spoke.  But  the 
desire  to  avail  himself  of  the  services  of  this  man,  and  the  con 
sciousness  of  having  already  gone  so  far  as  to  make  any  future 
risk  of  this  sort  comparatively  unimportant,  at  length  impelled 
him  to  a  full  expression  of  his  desire  to  get  Mellichampe  out 
of  his  way,  and,  with  this  object,  to  hear  from  Blonay,  and  to 
suggest  himself,  sundry  plans  for  this  purpose.  The  great 
difficulty  consisted  in  the  position  of  Barsfield  himself  in  rela 
tion  to  the  prisoner  so  particularly  intrusted  to  his  charge  by 
Tarleton,  and  with  orders  so  imperative  and  especial.  Tliis 
was  th,e  grand  difficulty,  which  it  required  all  the  ingenuity 
of  Barsfield  to  surmount.  Had  Mellichampe  been  the  prisoner 
of  Tarleton,  or  of  any  other  person  than  Barsfield  himself,  the 
murder  of  the  youth  would  most  probably  have  been  effected 
that  very  night,  such  was  the  unscrupulous  hatred  of  the  tory, 
if  not  of  Blonay.  For  the  present,  we  may  say  that  the  half- 
breed  might  not  so  readily  have  fallen  into  any  plan  of  Bars- 
field  which  would  have  made  him  the  agent  in  the  commission 
of  the  deed. 

"  You  go  with  Tarleton  to-morrow :  you  will  not  keep  with 
him,  for  he  goes  down  to  Sinkler's  Meadow.  When  do  you 
return  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  there's  no  telling,  cappin,  seeing  as  how  the 
colonel  may  want  me  to  go  'long  with  him." 


208 


MKLLICHAMPE. 


"  He  will  not,  when  you  have  shown  him  to  the  camp  of 
Marion." 

"  Well,  if  so  be  he  don't,  I'll  be  back  mighty  soon  after  I 
leaves  him.  I  don't  want  to  go  with  him,  'cause  I  known 
there's  no  finding  a  man's  enemy  in  pertic'lar,  when  there's  a 
big  company  'long." 

"It  is  well.  You  will  be  back,  then,  by  to-morrow  night, 
and  I  will  then  put  you  upon  a  plan  which  will  enable  you  to 
get  this  boy  out  of  the  way  for  me." 

"Well,  but,  cappin,  ha'n't  you  got  him  now?  It's  mighty 
riasy  now,  as  1  tell'd  you  before,  to  do  for  him  yourself." 

"You  do  not  seem  to  understand,  Blonay.  I  am  prevented 
from  doing  anything,  as  Tarleton  has  made  me  directly  respon 
sible  for  the  appearance  of  the  prisoner." 

"Ad rat  it,  who's  to  know  when  the  colonel's  gone?  The 
chap's  hurt  and  sick.  Reckon  he  can  die  by  natur." 

Barsfield  understood  him,  and  replied  — 

"Yes,  and  nature  might  be  helped  in  his  case,  but  that 
Tarleton's  own  surgeon  and  assistants  remain,  and  none  but 
the  Berkeley  family  are  to  be  admitted  to  the  prisoner.  If  I 
could  report  at  my  pleasure  on  his  condition,  it  might  easily  be 
done;  but  I  can  not.  It  must  be  done  by  another,  if  done  at 
all,  and  in  such  a  way  as  will  show  that  I  could  have  had  no 
hand  in  it.  I  have  a  plan  in  my  mind  for  this  purpose,  which 
you  shall  execute  on  your  return,  by  which  means  I  shall 
avoid  these  difficulties.  You  are  willing?" 

"  Well,  yes,  I  reckon.  It  don't  take  much  to  finish  a  chap 
that's  half  dead  already;  but  —  I  say,  cappin  —  does  you 
really  think  now  that  that  'ere  gal  has  a  notion  for  him  ?" 

The  question  seemed  to  Barsfield  exceedingly  impertinent, 
and  he  replied  with  a  manner  sufficiently  haughty  : — 

"What  matters  it  to  you,  sirrah,  whether  she  has  such  a 
notion  or  not?  How  does  it  concern  you  1  and  what  should 
you  know  of  love  ?" 

"No  harm,  cappin  —  I  doesn't  mean  any  harm;  it  don't 
sonsarn  me,  that's  true.  But,  adrat  it,  cappin,  she's  a  mighty 
fine  gal :  and  she  does  look  so  sweet  and  so  sorry  all  the  time, 
jist  as  if  she  wouldn't  hurt  a  mean  crawling  black  spider  that 
was  agin  the  wall." 


SCOUTING.  WSJ 

Barsfield  looked  with  some  surprise  at  the  speaker,  as  he 
heard  him  utter  a  language  so  like  that  of  genuine  feeling,  and 
in  tones  that  seemed  to  say  that  he  felt  it ;  and  he  was  about  to 
make  some  rernark  when  Blonay,  who  had  stood  during  this 
dialogue  leaning  with  his  shoulder  against  a  tree,  and  his  head 
down  in  a  listless  manner  upon  his  bosom,  now  started  into  an 
attitude  and  expression  of  the  most  watchful  consciousness. 
A  pause  of  a  few  moments  ensued,  when,  hearing  nothing, 
Barsfield  was  about  to  go  on  with  the  speech  which  the  man 
ner  of  his  companion  had  interrupted,  when  the  half-breed 
again  stopped  him  with  a  whisper,  while  his  finger  rested  upon 
the  arm  of  the  tory  in  cautious  warning. 

"Hist;  I  hear  them  —  there  are  no  less  than  three  feet  in 
that  swamp  —  don't  you  hear  them  walking  in  the  water? 
There,  now.  You  hear  when  the  flat  of  the  foot  comes  down 
upon  the  water." 

"  I  hear  nothing,"  said  Barsfield. 

Without  a  word,  the  half-breed  stooped  to  the  single  brand 
that  was  now  blazing  near  them,  and  gathering  a  double  hand 
ful  of  dirt  from  the  hillock,  he  threw  it  upon  the  flame  and 
extinguished  it  in  an  instant.  The  next  moment  they  heard 
the  distant  crackling  of  dry  sticks  and  a  rustling  among  the 
leaves.  . 

"  It  may  be  your  great  alligator,"  said  Barsfield. 

"  No  —  it's  men  —  Marion's  men,  I  reckon  —  and  there's  three 
of  them,  at  least.  They  are  spying  on  the  carnp.  Lie  close." 

Barsfield  did  not  immediately  stoop, -and  the  half-breed  did 
not  scruple  to  grasp  his  arm  with  an  urgency  and  force  which 
brought  the  tory  captain  forward.  He  trod  heavily  as  he  did 
bo  upon  a  cluster  of  the  dried  leaves  which  had  formed  the 
:ouch  of  Blonay,  and  a  slight  whistle  reached  their  ears  a 
moment  after,  and  then  all  was  silence.  The  tory  and  his 
companion  crouched  together  behind  the  huge  gum  under 
which  the  latter  had  been  accustomed  to  sleep,  and  thus  they 
remained  without  a  word  for  several  minutes.  No  sound  in  all 
that  time  came  to  their  senses;  and  Barsfield,  rather  more 
adventurous  than  Blonay,  or  less  taught  in  the  subtleties  of 
3wamp  warfare,  tired  of  his  position,  arose  slowly  from  the 
ground  and  thrust  his  head  from  beh'iad  the  tree,  endeavoring. 


270  MKLLICHAMPK. 

in  tlic  dim  liglit  that  occasionally  stole  from  the  heavens  into 
those  deep  recesses,  to  gather  what  he  could  of  the  noises 
which  had  disturbed  them.  The  hand  of  the  half  breed, 
grasping  the  skirts  of  his  coat,  had  scarcely  drawn  him  back 
into  the  shelter  of  the  tree,  when  the  whizzing  of  the  bullet 
through  the  leaves,  and  the  sharp  crack  of  the  rifle,  warned 
him  of  his  own  narrow  escape,  and  of  the  close  proximity  of 
(1  anger. 

"  I  knows  where  they  are  now,"  said  Blonay,  in  a  whisper, 
changing  his  position;  "we  are  safe  enough  if  you  can  stick 
close  to  me,  cappin." 

"Lead  on  —  I'll  follow,"  was  the  reply,  in  the  same  low 
whisper  which  conveyed  the  words  of  Blonay.  The  half- 
breed  instantly  hurled  a  huge  half-burnt  chunk  of  wood 
through  the  bushes  before  him,  the  noise  of  which  he  neces 
sarily  knew  would  call  the  eyes  of  the  scouts  in  that  direction; 
then,  in  the  next  instant,  bounding  to  the  opposite  side,  he 
took  his  way  between  two  clumps  of  bays  which  grew  in  the 
miry  places  along  the  edge  of  the  tussock  on  which  they  had 
been  standing.  Barsfield  followed  closely -and  without  hesita 
tion,  though  far  from  escaping  so  well  the  assaults  of  the  briers 
and  bushes  upon  his  cheeks.  His  guide,  with  a  sort  of  instinct, 
escaped  all  these  smaller  assailants,  and,  though  he  heard  the 
footsteps  behind  of  his  pursuers,  he  did  not  now  apprehend  any 
danger,  either  for  himself  or  his  companion,  having  thrown  the 
thick  growth  of  bays  between  them. 

The  party  which  so  nearly  effected  the  surprise  of  the  two 
conspirators  came  out  of  their  lurking-place  an  instant  after 
their  flight.  The  conjecture  of  the  half-breed  had  been  cor 
rect.  They  were  the  men  of  Marion. 

"You  fired  too  soon,  Lance,"  were  the  words  of  Humphries, 
"  and  the  skunk  is. off.  Had  you  waited  but  a  little  longer  we 
should  have  had  him  safe  enough.  Now  there's  no  getting 
him,  for  he  has  too  greatly  the  start  of  us." 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Mr.  Humphries.  I  saw  the  shiny  but 
tons,  and  I  thought  I  had  dead  aim  upon  him." 

"  "Rut  bow  comes  he  with  shiny  buttons,  John  Davis?"  said 
f  '  Isries,  quickly.  "When  you  saw  him  to-day  he  had  on 


ROUTING  &  \  • 

•<Yes —  I  seed  him  plain  enough,"  said  Davis,  ''and  I  could 
swear  U>  the  homespun  —  but  didn't  you  hear  as  if  two  Avas 
walking  together?" 

'"  No." 

"Well,  I  did;  and  'twas  reasonable  I  should  hear  before 
you,  seeing  I  was  ahead.  I  heard  them  clear  enough,  first  one 
and  then  t'other,  and  one  walked  in  the  water  while  t'other 
Avas  on  the  brush." 

«D — n  the  skunk,  that  I  should  lose  him;  it's  all  yom 
fault,  Lance.  You're  too  quick  and  hot  headed,  now-a-days  ; 
and  it'll  be  a  long  time  before  you  can  he  a  good  swamp  fox, 
unless  you  go  more  slowly,  and  learn  to  love  less  the  sound  of 
your  rifle.  But  it's  useless  to  stay  here  now,  and  we've  got 
other  work  to  do.  Our  sport 's  spoiled  for  this  time,  and  all 
Ave  can  do  is  to  take  off  as  quick  as  we  can  ;  for  it  won't  be 
long  before  the  scouts  of  Tarleton  will  be  poking  here  after 
us.  That  shot  must  bring  them  in  this  direction,  so  we'll  push 
round  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  bay,  Avhere  the  rest  of  the 
red-coats  are  in  camp." 

"But,  Mr.  Humphries,  can't  I  go  now  and  pick  off  that  sen 
try  Ave  passed  by  the  avenue ?"  demanded  Lance  Frampton, 
Avith  much  earnestness. 

"No,  d — n  the  sentry;  if  you  had  picked  off  this  skunk  of  a 
half-breed,  it  would  have  been  something  UOAV  I  should  have 
thanked  you  for;  that's  what  I  mostly  come  after.  As  for 
the  other,  there's  too  much  risk  now.  We  must  take  a  cross- 
track,  and  get  round  to  the  river  by  the  gun-flats.  Come, 
push  —  away." 

They  had  scarcely  moved  off  \vhen  a  stir  and  hum  in  the 
direction  of  Tarleton's  camp  announced  to  them  that  the  alarm 
had  been  given,  and  hurried  the  preparations  of  Humphries 
for  their  departure.  The  scouts  of  Barsfield,  led  by  the  tory 
himself  and  guided  by  Blonay,  after  a  Avhile  scoured  narroAvly 
the  recesses  of  the  bay :  but  the  men  of  Marion  had  melted 
away  like  spectres  in  the  distant  woods;  and,  chafed  and  cha 
grined,  the  tory  Avent  back  to  his  quarters,  fatigued  with  the 
unprofitable  pursuit,  and  irritated  into  sleeplessness,  as  he 
found  himself  in  the  close  neighborhood  of  a  foe  so  wary  am) 


272  MEL:  :cu  AMPE. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

THE    BI11I)    FLOWN. 

AT  day-dawn  the  next  morning,  the  trumpet  of  the  legion 
sounded  shrilly  over  the  grounds  where  Tarleton,  during  the 
night,  had  made  his  encampment.  With  the  signal  each 
trooper  was  at  his  post.  Tarleton  himself  was  already  dressed, 
and  about  to  buckle  the  heavy  sabre  at  his  side  which  his  arm 
h?id  ever  been  so  proverbially  ready  to  wield.  The  fire,  the 
stern  enthusiasm,  which  grew  out  of  his  impatience  for  the 
strife,  already  glowed  balefully  and  bright  upon  Ins  counte 
nance,  lie  v/as joined  at  this  moment  by  another — AU  officer; 
a  man  something  his  senior,  and,  like  him,  accustomed  seem 
ingly  lo  command. 

"  Your  trumpets  sound  unseasonably,  Tarleton,  and  de 
stroyed  as  pleasant  a  vision  as  ever  came  from  the  land  of 
dreams.  1  fancied  the  wars  were  over  —  that  I  was  once  again 
in  old  England,  with  all  the  little  ones  and  their  sweet  dam 
about  me;  and  your  heartless  trumpet  took  them  all  from  my 
embrace — all  at  one  fell  swoop." 

Tarleton  smiled,  but  smiled  in  such  a  sort  that  the  speaker 
almost  blushed  to  have  made  his  confession  of  domestic  ten 
derness  to  such  uncongenial  ears.  He  continued  :  — 

"  Hut  you  care  nothing  for  these  scenes,  and  scruple  not  to 
break  into  such  pleasures  to  destroy.  You  have  no  such  sweet 
cares  troubling  you  at  home." 

"  None,  MoncriefF-— none,  or  few.  Perhaps  I  might  please 
no  less  than  surprise  you,  were  I  to  say  that  I  wish  I  had; 
but  I  will  not  yield  yon  so  much  sympathy  ;  particularly 
indeed,  as  there  is  no  time  for  these  matters  or  such  talk  when 
Wfc  are  on  the  eve  of  grappling  with  an  enemy." 


TIIK    BIRD    FLOWN. 


273 


-Enemy?  what  enemy?"  demanded  the  other. 

"Our  old   enemy,  the  'swamp-fox,'"  responded   Tarleton, 

coolly. 

"What,  Marion  !   why,  where  is  he?" 

"  But  a  few  miles  off.  I  hope  to  have  late  breakfast  with 
him  — time  serving,  God  willing,  and  our  appetite  for  fight  as 
good  as  that  for  breakfast." 

"  But  know  you  where  he  is,  and  how?  Will  he  stand  for 
your  coming?  Will  he  not  fly,  as  usual  — double  himself 
round  a  cypress  while  you  are  piercing  your  way  through  its 
bowels  ?" 

"  Ay,  doubtless  if  he  can  ;  we  must  try  to  prevent  that,  and 
I  have  hopes  that  we  can  do  it.  His  scouts  have  been  around 
us,  like  so  many  vultures,  all  night;  and  Barsfield  reports  that 
one  has  had  the  audacity  to  fire  upon  a  sentinel.  This  shows 
him  to  be  at  hand,  and  in  sufficient  force  to  warrant  the  belief 
that  he  will  stand  a  brush." 

"  But  how  find  him,  Tarleton  ?  His  own  men  can  not  easily 
do  that,  and  you  have  never  yet  been  allowed  to  see  his 
feathers." 

"I  shall  now,  however,  I  think ;  for  I  perceive  our  guide 
stands  in  readiness,  Look  at  him,  Moncrieff:  did  you  ever 
see  such  a  creature  ?  Look  at  his  eyes  ;  do  they  not  give  you 
pain,  positive  pain,  to  survey  them?  They  seem  only  to  be 
kept*  in  his  head  by  desperate  effort;  and  yet,  behold  his 
form.  He  does  not  appear  capable  of  effort  —  scarcely,  in 
deed,  of  movement.  His  limbs  seem  hung  on  hinges,  and  one 
leg,  as  you  perceive,  appears  always,  as  now,  to  have  thrown 
the  whole  weight,  of  the  body  upon  the  other." 

"  A  strange  monster,  indeed  :  and  is  that  the  creature  to 
serve  you?  Can  he  put  you  on  the  trail  ?" 

"  He  pledges  himself  to  do  so.  He  has  seen  the  'swamp- 
fox'  and  his  men,  all  at  ease,  in  their  camp,  and  promises  that 
i  shall  see  them  too,  under  his  guidance." 

"  And  you  will  trust  him  ?" 

"  I  will." 

"  What  security  have  you  that  he  does  not  carry  you  into 
trap  ?" 


274  MKf.UCHAMPK. 

"His  own  neck  ;  for,  as  sure  as  lie  makes  a  false  move,  h? 
swings  from  the  nearest  sapling.  He  shall  he  watched." 

"  If  this  be  the  case,  Tarleton,  how  can  you  go  forward  1 
Will  it  not  be  for  me  then  to  execute  my  mission  T 

"Not  till  I  fail.  If  I  can  drub  Marion,  and  either  put  hiir. 
to  death  or  make  a  prisoner  of  him,  your  mission  will  be  null. 
There  will  be  no  use  in  buying  one  whom  we  can  beat.  liut 
if  he  now  escapes  me,  I  give  it  up.  He  would  escape  the 
devil.  You  may  then  seek  him  out  with  your  most  pacific 
aspect;  offer  him  his  pension  and  command  among  us,  as  our 
sagacious  commander-in- chief  has  already  devised,  and  make 
the  best  use  afterward  of  his  skill  in  baffling  Green,  as  he  so 
long  has  baffled  us.  If  he  does  half  so  well  for  his  majesty  as 
'or  his  continental  prog-princes,  he  will  be  worth  quite  as 
•juich  as  you  offer  for  him,  and  something  more." 

"True;  but,  Tarleton,  this  .chance  may  never  offer  again. 
We  may  never  get  a  guide  who  will  be  able  to  pilot  me 
through  these  d — d  impervious  and  pestilential  morasses  — 
certainly  few  to  show  me  where  to  find  him  out." 

"  We  must  risk  that,  Moncrieff.  I  will  not  give  up  my 
present  chance  of  striking  him,  though  you  never  have  the 
opportunity  you  seek.  He  has  baffled  me  too  long  already, 
and  my  pride  is  something  interested  to  punish  him.  The 
prospect  is  a  good  one,  and  I  will  not  lose  it.  Hark  you, 
fellow!" 

The  last  words  were  addressed  to  Blonay,  who,  in  sight 
of  the  speaker  all  the  while,  now  approached  at  the  order. 
The  stern,  stony  eye  of  the  fierce  legionary  rested  upon  him 
searchingly,  with  a  penetrating  glance  scarcely  to  be  with 
stood  by  any  gaze,  and  certainly  not  by  that  of  the  half  breed, 
who  never  looked  any  one  in  the  face.  Some  seconds  elapsed 
before  Tarleton  spoke  ;  and  when  he  did,  his  words  weue  cold. 
slow,  brief,  and  to  the  purpose. 

"  You  are  ready,  sir?" 

The  reply  was  affirmative. 

"You  hold  to  your  assertion  that  you  can  lead  me  to  wher .; 
Marion  camps  ?  ' 

"  I   can   lead    you    sir,  to  his  camp,  but   I  can't  say  for  his 


TDK    BIRD    FLOWN.  275 

Icing  in  it.  He  may  get  wind  of  you,  if  his  scouts  happen  to 
be  out." 

"I  know,  I  know,  you  said  this  before,  and  proposed,  if  I 
remember  rightly,  that  I  should  divide  my  force  in  order  to 
mislead.  But  I  know  better  than  to  do  that.  I  risk  nothing 
now  when  I  know  nothing  of  his  force,  and  I  am  not  so  sure,  sir, 
that  you  are  altogether  the  man  to  be  relied  on.  I  shall  watch 
you,  sirrah  ;  and  remember,  it  is  easier,  fellow,  to  hang  you  up 
to  a  bough  than  to  threaten  it.  Go  —  prepare.  Ho  !  there, 
Hodgson,  put  half  a  dozen  of  your  best  dragoons  in  charge  of 
this  guide,  and  keep  him  safe,  as  you  value  your  bones." 

"  I  will  not  run,  sir,"  said  Blonay,  looking  up  for  the  first 
time  into  the  face  of  Tarleton. 

"  I  know  that,  sir  —  you  shall  not,"  responded  the  other  coolly. 

The  signal  to  move  was  given  in  a  few  moments  after,  and 
Barsfield  saw  the  departure  of  Tarleton  in  pursuit  of  Marion 
with  a  singular  feeling  of  satisfaction  and  relief. 

It  is  not  our  present  purpose,  however,  to  pursue  the  route 
taken  by  Colonel  Tarleton  in  search  of  his  famous  adversary. 
Such  a  course  does  not  fall  within  the  purpose  of  our  present 
narrative.  It  may  be  well,  however,  as  it  must  be  sufficient, 
to  say,  that,  under  the  guidance  of  Blonay,  he  penetrated 
the  !--pa^ious  swamp  of  the  Santee,  and  was  led  faithfully  into 
and  thr9ugh  its  intricacies  —  but  he  penetrated  them  in  vain. 
Step  by  otep.  as  the  dense  body  pressed  its  way  through  brake, 
bog,  mid  brier,  did  they  hear  the  mysterious  signals  of  the 
\vaU'.)if'ul  partisans,  duly  communicating  to  one  another  the  ap 
proach  of  the  impending  danger. 

Vainly  did  Tarleton  press  forward  his  advance  in  the  hope 
of  arriving  at  tjie  camp  before  these  signals  could  possibly  reach 
it ;  but  such  a  pathway  to  his  heavily-mounted  men  was  very 
different  in  itfi  facilities  to  those  who  were  accustomed  daily 
to  glide  through  it ;  and  the  scouts  of  Marion  hung  about  Tarle- 
fon's  advance  in  front,  sometimes  venturing  in  sight,  and  con 
tinually  within  hearing,  to  the  utter  defiance  of  the  infuriated 
legionary,  who  saw  that  nothing  could  be  done  to  diminish  the 
distance  between  them.  At  length  they  reached  the  is'and 
where  the  "  swamp-fox"  made  his  home,  but  the  bird  had  flowa. 


276  MELLICHAMPE. 

Tlio  couch  of  rushes  \vhere  Marion  slept  was  still  warm-- 
the  fragments  of  the  half-eaten  breakfast  lay  around  the  logs 
which  formed  their  rude  hoards  of  repast,  hut  not  an  enemy 
was  to  be  seen. 

Stimulating  his  men  hy  promises  and  threats,  Tarlcton  fctill 
pursued,  in  the  hope  to  overtake  the  flying  partisans  before 
they  could  reach  the  Santee ;  but  in  vain  were  all  his  efforts; 
and,  though  moving  with  unexampled  celerity,  he  arrived  on 
the  banks  of  the  rapid  river  only  in  time  to  behold  the  last  of 
the  boats  of  the  "swamp-fox"  mingling  with  the  luxurious 
swamp  foliage  on  the  opposite  side.  The  last  twenty -four 
hours  had  been  busily  and  profitably  employed  by  Marion. 
He  had  utterly  annihilated  the  tories  who  had  gathered  at 
Sinkler's  Meadow.  Never,  says  the  history,  had  surprise  been 
more  complete.  He  came  upon  the  wretches  while  they  played 
at  cards,  and  dearly  did  they  pay  for  their  temerity  and  lieed- 
lessness.  They  were  shot  down  in  the  midst  of  dice  and  drink, 
foul  oaths  and  exultation  upon  their  lips,  and  with  those  bitter 
thoughts  of  hatred  to  their  countrymen  within  their  hearts 
winch  almost  justified  the  utmost  severities  of  that  retribution 
to  which  the  furious  partisans  subjected  them. 


LOVERS'  DOUBTS  AND  DREAMS.  277 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
LOVERS'  DOUBTS  AND  DREAMS. 

LET  us  now  return  to  Janet  Berkeley  and  the  wounded  Mel- 
lichampe.  Tarleton  Lad  not  deceived  the  maiden.  The  liurti 
of  her  lover,  though  serious  and  painful,  were  yet  not  danger 
ous,  unless  neglected  ;  and  as  the  privilege  was  accorded  her 
—  the  sweetest  of  all  privileges  to  one  who  loves  truly  —  of 
being  with  and  tending  upon  the  heloved  one,  there  was  no 
longer  reason  to  apprehend  for  his  safety,  from  the  injuries  al 
ready  received.  The  apprehensions  of  Janet  Berkeley  were, 
naturally  enough,  all  addressed  to  the  future.  She  knew  the 
enemy  in  whose  custody  he  lay  ;  and,  though  half  consoled 
by  the  positive  assurances  of  Tarleton,  and  compelled,  froir. 
the  necessity  of  the  case,  to  be  satisfied,  she  was  yet  far  from 
contented  with  the  situation  of  her  lover. 

His  first  moment  of  perfect  consciousness,  after  his  wounds 
had  been  dressed,  found  her,  a  sweet  minister  waiting  at  his 
side.  Her  hand  bathed  his  head  and  smoothed  his  pillow  — 
her  eye,  dewy  and  bright,  hung  like  a  sweet  star  of  promise 
above  his  form  —  her  watchful  care  brought  him  the  soothing 
medicine  —  her  voice  of  love  cheered  him  into  hope  with  the 
music  of  a  heaven-born  affection.  Every  whisper  from  her  lips 
was  as  so  much  melody  upon  his  ear,  and  brought  with  it  a 
feeling  of  peace  and  quiet  to  his  mind,  which  had  not  often 
been  a  dweller  there  before.  Ah,  surely,  love  is  the  heart's 
best  medicine  !  It  is  the  dream  of  a  perfect  spirit-— the  solace 
oFThe  otherwise  denied  —  the  first,  the  last  hope  of  all  not  ut 
terly  turned  away  from  the  higher  promptings  and  better  pui 
poses  of  a  divine  humanity. 

How  sweet  became  his  hurts  to  Mellichampe  under  such  at 


MKLLICIIAMI'K 

tendance  !  The  pain  of  his  wounds  and  bruises  grew  int»  a 
positive  pleasure,  as  it  brought  her  nigh  to  him — ami  so  nigh  1 
—  as  it  disclosed  to  his  imagination  such  a  long  train  o!  enjoy 
ments  in  the  future,  coming  from  the  constant  association  with 
her.  Love  no  longer  wore  her  garb  of  holyday,  but,  in  the 
rustic  and  unostentatious  dress  of  home,  she  looked  more 
lovt-ly  to  his  sight,  as  she  seemed  more  natural.  Hitherto,  he 
had  sought  her  only  for  sweet  smiles  and  blessing  words  ;  now 
she  gave  him  those  cares  of  the  true  affection  which  manifested 
its  sincerity,  which  met  the  demand  for  them  unshrinkingly 
and  with  pleasure,  and  which  bore  their  many  tests,  not  only 
without  complaint  or  change,  but  with  a  positive  delight.  It 
was  thus  that  her  heart  proved  its  disinterestedness  and  devo 
tion  ;  and  though  Mcllichampe  had  never  doubted  her  readi 
ness  to  bestow  so  much,  he  yet  never  before  had  imagined  the 
extent  of  her  possession,  and  of  the  sweet  liberality  which 
-kept  full  pace  with  her  affluence.  Until  now,  he  had  never 
realized,  in  his  most  reaching  thought,  how  completely  he 
should  become  a  dependant  upon  her  regards  for  those  sweet 
;  sympathies,  without  which  life  is  a  bavren  waste,  having  the 
i  doom  of  Adam  —  that  of  a  stern  labor  —  without  yielding  him 
1  any  of  the  flowers  of  Eden,  and  certainly  withholding  all,  if 
denying  that  most  cherished  of  all  its  flowers  which  he  brought 
kjvyith  him  from  its  garden  —  the  flower  of  unselfish  love. 

To  be  able  to  confide  is  to  be  happy  in  all  conditions,  how 
ever  severe  ;  and  this  present  feeling  in  his  heart — the  perfect 
reliance  upon  her  affection  —  assured  and  strengthened  the 
warm  passion  in  his  own,  until  every  doubt  and  fear,  selfish 
ness  and  suspicion,  were  discarded  from  that  region,  leaving 
nothing  in  their  place  but  that  devotedness  to  the  one  worthy 
object  which,  as  it  is  holy  in  the  sight  of  Heaven,  must  he  the 
dearest  of  all  human  possessions  in  the  contemplation  of  man. 

With  returning  consciousness,  when  he  discovered  how  she 
had  been  employed  he  carried  her  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed 
it  fervently.  He  felt  too  much  for  several  minutes  to  speak  to 
her.  When  he  did,  his  words  were  little  else  than  exclama 
tions. 

"Ah,  Janet — my  own  —  my  all !  —  ever  nigh  to  me,  as  you 


LOVKttb      DOUBTS    A>  I)    DREAMS. 

Are  ever  clear,  lio\v  can  I  repay,  how  respond  to  such  sweet 
love?  I  now  feel  how  very  poor,  how  very  dependent,  how 
very  destitute  I  am  !" 

These  were  almost  the  first  words  which  he  uttered  after 
awakening-  from  a  long,  deep,  and  refreshing  sleep,  into  which 
he  had  been  thrown  by  an  opiate  judiciously  administered  for 
that  object.  She  had  no  reply,  but,  bending  down  to  his  pillow, 
her  lips  were  pressed  upon  his  forehead  lightly,  while  her  up 
lifted  finger  warned  him  into  silence.  He  felt  a  tear,  but  a 
single  tear,  upon  his  cheek,  while  her  head  hung  above  him  ; 
and  so  far  from  being  destitute,  as  he  had  avowed  himself 
before,  he  now  felt  how  truly  rich  he  was  in  the  possession  of 
such  dear  regards. 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  my  angel,"  he  continued,  "  but  I  must 
talk  to  you,  unless  you  will  to  me.  Speak  to  me,  tell  me 
all,  let  me  know  what  has  passed.  What  of  Major  Single 
ton  and  our  men  ?" 

"They  are  gone — safe." 

"  Ah  !  this  is  good.  But  Witherspoon  —  what  of  him  ?  he 
was  fighting,  when  I  saw  him  last,  with  two  :  they  were  pres 
sing  him  hard,  and  I  —  I  could  give  him  no  aid.  What  of  him  ; 
is  he  safe?  Tell  me;  but  do  not  say  that  harm  has  befallen 
Kim." 

"He,  too,  is  safe,  dear  Ernest ;  I  saw  him  as  he  fled." 

'"Ha!  did  he  leave  me,  then  ;  and  where?  I  looked  not 
for  that  from  him.  Perhaps,  it  is  so,  he  brought  me  to  you, 
did  he  not  V 

"  He  did  not,  but  then  he  could  not,  dearest.  He  was  com 
pelled  to  fly  in  haste.  I  saw  him  while  he  fled,  and  the  dra 
goons  came  fast  after  him." 

He  Mould  have  put  a  thousand  other  questions,  and  vainly 
she  exLcjied  him  to  silence.  She  was  compelled  to  narrate 
all  she  knew,  in  order  to  do  that  which  her  entreaties,  in  the 
great  au^iwty  and  impatience  of  his  mind  failed  to  effect.  She 
told  hii_  „»  the  continued  fight  in  the  avenue,  of  the  approach 
of  Tarl — -,«i,  and  how,  when  the  enemy  had  gone  in  pursuit  of 
the  flyivft*  partisans,  she  had  sought  and  found  him.  Of  these 
events  s>9  had  no  recollection.  She  suppressed,  however,  all 


280  MELLICHAMPK. 

of  those  matters  which  related  to  the  second  attempt  of  Bars 
field  upon  his  life  while  he  lay  prostrate,  and  of  her  own  inter 
position,  which  had  saved  him ;  and  took  especial  care  to  avoid 
every  topic  which  could  stimulate  his  anger  or  increase  his 
anxiety.  Of  the  conduct  of  Tarleton,  so  unusual  and  generous, 
she  gave  a  full  account ;  an  account  which  gave  the  heard 
quite  as  much  astonishment  as  pleasure.  It  certainly  present 
ed  to  his  mind's  eye  a  new  and  much  more  agreeable  feature 
in  the  character  of  that  famous,  or  rather  infamous,  soldier. 

So  sweet  was  it  thus  for  him  to  hear,  and  so  grateful  to  her  to 
have  such  a  pleased  auditor,  that  the  hours  flew  by  impercep 
tibly,  and  their  mutual  dream  of  love  would  not  soon  have 
been  disturbed  but  for  the  sounds  of  Barsfield's  voice,  which 
came  from  the  passage-way,  while  he  spoke  in  harsh  dictation 
to  the  sentinels  who  watched  the  chamber  of  the  wounded 
Mellichainpe. 

The  youth  started  as  the  well-known  and  hated  accents  met 
his  ears.  His  brow  gathered  into  a  cloud,  and  he  half  raised 
himself  from  his  pillow,  while  his  eye  flashed  the  fire  of  bat 
tle,  and  his  fingers  almost  violently  grasped  the  wrist  of  the 
maiden,  under  the  convulsive  spasm  of  fury  Avhich  seized  upon 
and  shook  his  enfeebled  frame. 

"  That  voice  is  Barsfield's.  Said  you  not,  Janet,  that  I  was 
Colonel  Tarleton's  prisoner  V 

She  answered  him  quickly,  and  with  an  air  of  timid  appre 
hension  — 

" 1  did,  clear  Ernest ;  but  Colonel  Tarleton  has  gone  in 
pursuit  of  General  Marion." 

"And  I  am  here  at  t\\e  mercy  of  this  bloody  wretch,  this 
scoundrel  without  soul  or  character ;  at  his  mercy,  without 
strength,  unable  to  lift  arm  or  weapon,  and  the  victim  of  his 
will.  Ha !  this  is  to  be  weak,  this  is  to  be  a  prisoner,  indeed  !" 

Bitterly  and  fiercely  did  he  exclaim,  as  he  felt  the  true  des 
titution  of  his  present  condition. 

"  Not  at  his  will,  not  at  his  mercy,  dear  Ernest.  Colonel 
Tarleton  has  promised  me  that  you  shall  be  safe,  that  he  els. -3 
not  harm  you." 

She  spoke  rapidly  in   striving  to  reassure  her  lover.     B    : 


LOVERS'  DOUBTS  AND  DKKAMS.  281 

arm  encircled  his  neck,  her  tears  flowed  freely  upon  his  cheeks, 
while  her  voice,  even  while  it  uttered  clearly  the  very  words 
of  assurance  which  Tarleton  had  expressed,  trembled  as  much 
with  the  force  of  her  own  secret  fears  as  at  the  open  expression 
uf  his.  But  her  lover  remained  unsatisfied.  lie  did  not  know 
the  nature  of  those  securities  which  Barsfield  tacitly  placed 
in  the  hands  of  his  superior. 

"  Alas,  Janet,  I  know  this  monster  but  too  well  not  to  appre 
hend  the  worst  at  his  hands.  He  is  capable  of  the  vilest  and 
the  darkest  wrongs  where  he  hates  and  fears.  But  why  should 
I  fear  1  The  power  of  the  base  and  the  tyrannical,  thank 
Heaven  !  has  its  limits,  and  he  can  but — " 

"  Say  not,  Ernest,  say  not.  He  dare  not,  be  will  not.  I 
believe  in  Colonel  Tarleton." 

"So  do  not  1  ;  but  I  fear  not,  my  beloved.  I  have  dared 
death  too  often  already;  I  have  seen  him  in  too  many  shapes, 
to  tremble  at  him  now.  I  fear  him  not:  but  to  die  like  a 
caged  rat,  cooped  in  a  narrow  dungeon,  and  only  preparing 
myself  for  the  knife  of  the  murderer,  is  to  die  doubly  ;  and 
this,  most  probably,  is  the  doom  reserved  forme." 

"  Think  not  so,  think  not  so,  Ernest,  I  pray  you,  think 
not  so.  God  keep  me  from  the  horrible  thought  !  It  can 
not  be  that  Tarleton  will  suffer  it  ;  it  can  not  be  that  God 
will  suffer  it.  I  would  not  that  you  should  speak  so,  Ernest ; 
anil  I  can  not  think  that  this  bad  man,  bad  enough,  though 
I  believe  him  to  be,  for  anything,  will  yet  dare  so  far  to 
incur  the  danger  of  offending  his  superior  as  to  abuse  his 
trust  and  gratify  his  malignity  in  the  present  instance.  Oh, 
no  !  he  greatly  fears  Colonel  Tarleton  ;  and,  could  you  but 
have  seen  the  look  that  Tarleton  gave  him,  as  he  ordered 
him  to  take  all  care  of  you,  had  you  but  heard  his  words 
to  me  and  to  him  both,  you  would  not  feel  so  apprehensive; 
and  then,  you  know,  Colonel  Tarleton's  own  surgeon  is  left 
with  you-,  and  none  are  to  be  permitted  to  see  you  but  my 
self  and  such  persons  as  he  thinks  proper. 

"I  fear  nothing,  Janet,  but  distrust  everything  that  belongs 
to  this  man  Barsfield.  Colonel  Tarleton,.  I  doubt  not,  hag 
taken  every  precaution  in  my  favor,  though  why  he  should  do 


HKLLfCHAMPB. 


so  I  am  at  ;i  lot,s  to  determine  ,  but  all  precautions  will  be  un 
availing  whore  a  in, in  like  Bar.sfield  is  bent  upon  crime 
and  where,  in  addition  to  his  criminal  propensity,  he  has 
•the  habitual  cunning  of  a  man  accustomed  to  its  indulgence. 
He  will  contrive  some  means  to  shift  the  responsibility  of 
the  charge,  in  some  moment  or  other,  te  other  shoulders, 
and  will  avail  himself  of  that  moment  to  rid  himself  of  me, 
if  he  possibly  can.  We  must  only  be  heedful  of  all  change 
of  circumstances,  and  seek  to  apprise  Witherspoon  of  my  sit 
uation.  He  will  not  be  far  off,  I  well  know;  for  he  must  be 
miserable  in  my  absence." 

"  Oh,  trust  me,  Ernest,  I  shall  watch  you  more  closely  than 
those  sentinels.  Love,  surely,  can  watch  as  well  as  hate." 

-Better— better,  my  Janet.  May  I  deserve  your  care  — 
your  love  May  I  always  do  you  justice,  living  or  dying." 

Her  cheek  rested  upon  his,  and  she  wo.pt  freely  to  hear  his 
words.  He  continued  — 

"  I  know  that  you  will  watch  over  me,  and  I  chafe  not  more 
at  my  own  weakness  than  at  the  charge  and  care  that  this 
dreary  watch  must  impose  upon  you." 

"A  sweet  care  —  a  dear,  not  a  dreary,  watch.  Oh  !  Ernest 
—  it  is  the  sweetest  of  all  cares  to  watch  for  the  good  of  tho.se 
we  love." 

"I  feel  it  sweet  to  be  thus  watched,  dearest;  so  sweet  that, 
^nder  other  circumstances,  I  feel  that  I  should  not  be  willing 
to  relieve  you  of  the  duty.  But  you  have  little  strength- - 
little  ability,  in  corresponding  even  with  your  will  to  serve 
me.  This  villain  will  elude  your  vigilance  — he  will  practise 
in  some  way  upon  you;  and  oh,  my  Janet,  what  if  he  succeed 
in  his  murderous  wish  —  what  if — " 

"  With  a  convulsive  sob,  that  spoke  the  fullness  of  her  heart 
and  its  perfect  devotion,  she  threw  herself  upon  his  bosom. 
and  her  lips  responded  to  his  gloomy  anticipations  while  inter 
rupting  them. 

"I  am  not  strong  enough  to  save  you,  Ernest,  and   to  con 
tend  with  your  murderer,  if  such  he  should  become;   but  thru 
is  one  thing  that  I  am  strong  enough  for." 
"  What  is  that,  dearest  ?" 


LOVER'S  DOUBTS  AND  DKEAMS.  283 

"  To  die  for  you  at  any  moment." 

And,  for  an  hour  after,  a  tearful  silence,  broken  only  by  an  occa 
sional  word,  which  spoke,  like  a  long  gathering  tear,  the  overcrowd 
ing  emotions  to  which  it  brought  relief,  was  all  the  language  of  those 
two  loving  hearts,  thus  mirfgling  sweetly  together  amid  the  strife  and 
the  storm  —  the  present  evil,  the  impending  danger,  and  the  ever- 
threatening  dread.  The  strife  and  the  hate  without  brought  neither 
strife  nor  hate  to  them,  and,  like  twin  forms,  mutually  devoted  to 
the  last,  amid  the  raging  seas  and  on  a  single  spar,  they  clung 
to  each  other,  satisfied,  though  the  tempest  raged  and  the  waves 
threatened,  to  perish,  if  they  might  perish  together.  They  were  not, 
in  those  sad  moments,  less  confident  and  conscious  of  the  sweets  of  a 
mutual  love,  though  filled  with  anticipations  of  evil,  and  though 
they  well  knew  that  a  malignant  and  unforgiving  Hate  stood  watch 
ing  at  the  door.  And  the  affection  was  not  less  sweet  and  sacred  that 
it  was  followed  by  the  thousand  doubts  and  apprehensions  which  at 
no  moment  utterly  leave  the  truly  devoted,  and  which,  in  the  present 
instance,  came  crowding  upon  them  with  a  thousand  auxiliary  terrors 
to  exaggerate  the  form  of  the  danger,  and  to  multiply  the  accumula 
ting  stings  of  fear. 


284  MULLICHAMPE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

LOVE    PASSAGES. 

"  How  sweet  the  days  of  Thalaba  went  by  !"  Mellichampe, 
under  such  attendance,  soon  grew  insensible  to  all  his  suffer 
ings.  The  bruises  quickly  disappeared  —  the  wounds  were 
healing  rapidly.  The  care  of  the  nurse  surpassed  in  its  happy 
effects  the  anticipations  of  the  physicians,  and  the  youth  was 
getting  well.  The  spirits  of  the  two  became  strong  and  con 
fident  with  the  improvement  of  the  patient:  and  their  hearts 
grew  happier,  and  their  hopes  more  buoyant,  with  each  day's 
continued  association.  The  world  around  them  was  gradually 
excluded  from  their  contemplation  ;  and,  blessed  with  the  pres 
ence  of  each  other,  the  chamber  of  Mellichampe  —  his  prison, 
as  it  was  —  closely  watched  by  hostile  eyes  ai:.d  guarded  by 
deadly  weapons  —  was  large  enough  for  the  desires  of  one,  at 
least,  of  the  two  within  it.  The  relation  existing  between 
Janet  Berkeley  and  Ernest  Mellichampe  appeared  now  to  be 
understood  by  all  parties.  Her  father  had  nothing  to  oppose 
-  the  maiden  herself  in  the  perilous  moment,  as  it  was  thought, 
to  the  safety  of  her  lover,  had  fearlessly  and  proudly  pro 
claimed  the  ties  existing  between  them ;  and,  if  the  prude 
Decorum  could  suggest  nothing  against  the  frequent  and  unob 
structed  meeting  of  the  two,  Virtue  herself  liac  no  reason  to 
apprehend  ;»  for,  surely,  never  yet  did  young  hearts  so  closely 
and  fervently  cling  to  one  another  —  yet  so  completely  ma;n 
,  tain  the  purity  and  the  ascendency  of  their  souls.  Love,  built 
upon  esteem,  is  always  secure  from  abasement  —  it  is  that  r^.s- 
sion,  falsely  named  love  which  grows  out  of  a  warm  ima^i  a- 
tion  and  wild  blood  only,  which  may  not  be  trusted  by 
88  it  is  seldom  entirely  able  to  trust  or  to  control  itself. 


LOVE    PASSAGES. 


285 


Rose  Duncan  complained,  however,  as  she  suffered  much  !>y 
the  devotion  of  Janet  Berkeley  to  her  lover.  This  young  girl 
was  one  of  those,  thousands  of  whom  are  to  be  met  with  hourly, 
who  derive  all  their  characteristics  from  the  color  of  events 
and  things  around  them*  She  had  little  of  that  quality,  or 
combination  of  qualities  rather,  which  we  call  character.  She 
was  of  a  flexible  and  susceptible  temperament.  The  hues  of 
her  mind  came  from  the  passing  zephyr,  or  the  overhanging 
cloud.  She  lacked  those  sterner  possessions  of  intrinsic 
th  mght  which  usually  make  their  proprietor  independent  of 
circumstances,  and  immovable  under  the  operation  of  illegiti 
mate  influences.  Unlike  her  graver  companion,  she  had  no 
sorrows,  simply  he-cause  she  had  little  earnestness  of  character. 
She  was  usually  lively  and  clastic  in  the  extreme;  and  lie 
who  only  casually  observed  might  have  imagined  that  a  spirit 
so  cheerful  as  hers  usually  appeared  would  not.  readily  be 
operated  upon  or  kept  down  by  the  occurrence  of  untoward 
events.  But,  if  she  lacked  all  of  those  features  of  sadness 
which  mellowed  and  made  the  loveliness  of  Janet's  character, 
and  softened  the  quicker  emotions  of  her  soul,  she  was.  at  the 
same  time,  entirely  wanting  in  that  concentration  of  moral 
object  which  enables  the  possessor  to  address  himself  firmly 
and  without  scruple  to  the  contest  of  those  evils,  whether  ir 
prospect  or  in  presence,  which,  nevertheless,  even  when  over 
come,  make  the  eye  to  weep  and  the  soul  to  tremble.  Rose 
Duncan  would  laugh  at  the  prediction  of  evil,  simply  because 
she  could  never  concentrate  her  thoughts  sufficiently  upon  its 
consideration  ;  and  thus,  when  it  came  upon  her,  she  would  be 
utterly  unprepared  to  encounter  it.  Not  so  with  Janet  Berke 
ley.  Her  heart,  gentle  and  earnest  in  all  its  emotions,  neces 
sarily  inclined  her  understanding  and  imagination  to  think 
upon  and  to  estimate  all  those  sources  of  evil,  not  less  than  of 
good,  which  belong  to,  and  make  up,  the  entire  whole  of  hu 
man  life.  Its  sorrows  she  had  prepared  herself  to  endure  from 
the  earliest  hours  of  thought ;  and  it  was  thus  that,  when 
sorrow  came  to  her  in  reality,  it  was  the  foregone  conclusion 
to  which  her  reflections  had  made  her  familiar,  and  for  winch 
her  nerves  were  already  prepared.  The  tale  of  suffering 


ICELLIOHAMI'R 


brought  forth  no  less  grief  than  the  actual  experience  of  it,  ana 
far  less  of  that  active  spirit  of  resistance  and  that  tenacious  soul 
of  endurance  with  which  she  was  at  all  times  prepared  to  con 
tend  with  its  positive  inflictions.  It  was  thus  that  she  was  ena 
bled,  when  her  inoro  volatile  companion  lay  unnerved  and  terri 
fied  at  her  feet,  to  go  forth  fearlessly  amid  all  the  danger  and  the 
dread,  traverse  the  field  of  strife  unshaken  by  its  horrors,  and, 
from  among  the  dying  and  the  dead,  seek  out  the  one  object 
to  whom,  when  she  had  once  pledged  her  heart,  she  had  also 
pledged  the  performance,  even  of  a  duty  so  trying  and  so  sa.i  ; 
and,  though  she  had  sickened  at  the  loathsome  aspect  of  war 
around  her,  she  had  felt  far  less  of  terror  in  that  one  scene  of 
real  horrors  than  she  had  a  thousand  times  before  in  the 
dreams  begotten  by  an  active  imagination,  and  a  soul  earnest, 
devoted,  and  susceptible  in  the  extreme. 

Often  did  Rose  Duncan  chide  the  maiden  for  her  exclusive 
devotion  to  her  lover,  as  she  herself  suffered  privation  from  her 
devoted  ness. 

"  There  is  quite  too  much  of  it,  Janet ;  he  will  be  sick  to 
death  of  you  before  you  are  married,  if,  indeed,  you  ever  are 
married  to  him,  which  ought  to  be  another  subject  of  considera 
tion  with  you.  It  would  be  very  awkward  if,  after  all  these 
attentions  on  your  part  —  this  perfect  devotion,  I  may  call  it 
—  he  should  never  marry  you.  I  should  never  trust  any  man 
so  far." 

"  Not  to  trust  is  not  to  love.  When  I  confide  less  in  Melli- 
champe,  I  shall  love  him  less,  Rose,  and  I  would  not  willingly 
think  of  such  a  possibility.  In  loving  him  I  give  up  all  selfish 
thoughts  :  I  must  love  entirely,  or  not  at  all." 

"Ah,  but  how  much  do  you  risk  by  this?" 

"It  is  woman's  risk  always,  Rose,  arid  I  would  not  desire 
one  privilege  which  does  not  properly  belong  to  my  sex.  I 
have  no  qualifications  in  my  regard  for  Mellichampe.  To  my 
mind,  his  honor  is  as  lofty  as,  to  my  heart,  his  affections  are 
dear.  I  should  weep  —  I  should  suffer  dreadfully  —  if  1 
thought,  for  an  instant,  that  he  believed  me  touched  wi'h  a 
dingle  doubt  of  his  fidelity." 

"  Very    right,  perhaps,  Janet,  and   you   are    only    the   bn-r.*»* 


LOVK    PASSAGES.  287 

girl  for  thinking  ns  you  do;  nut  marriage  and  kve  aiv  lot 
teries,  they  say,  and  it  is  no  wisdom  to  stake  one's  all  in  ?3 
lottery.  A  little  venture  may  do  well  enough,  but  prudent 
people  will  be  well-minded,  and  keep  something  in  reserve.  I 
like  that  Scotchman's  advice  of  all  tilings  — 

"  *  Aye  free  aff  hun'  your  story  tell 

When  \vi'  a  bosom  crony, 
But  still  keep  something  to  ywrseL 
You  seldom  lull  to  ony 

"'Conceal  yourself,  as  well's  ye  can 

Frn'  critical  dissection, 
But  keek  through  every  other  man 
Wi'  sharpened  sly  inspection.'" 

"And  I  think  it  detestable  doctrine,  Rose  Duncan,"  Janet 
responded,  with  something  like  indignation  overspreading  hoi 
beautiful,  sad  countenance  for  the  instant,  as  a  flash  of  parting 
sunlight  sent  through  the  deep  forests  in  the  last  moment  of 
his  setting  — 

"  1  think  it  detestable  doctrine,  only  becoming  in  a  narrow- 
minded  wretch,  who,  knavish  himself,  suspects  all  mankind  of 
a  similar  character.  Such  doctrines  are  calculated  to  make 
monsters  of  one  half  of  the  world  and  victims  of  the  other. 
This  one  verse  I  regard  as  the  blot  in  a  performance  otherwise 
}f  great  beauty,  and  wisely  true  in  all  other  respects.  No,  no, 
Rose  —  I  may  be  wrong  —  I  may  be  weak  —  I  may  give  my 
heart  fondly  and  foolishly  —  I  may  train  my  affections  un- 
profitably —  but,  oh,  let  me  confide  still,  though  1  suffer  for  it! 
Let  me  never  distrust  where  I  love  —  where  I  have  set  my 
heart  —  where  I  have  staked  all  that  I  live  for." 

Rose  was  rebuked,  and  here,  for  a  few  moments,  the  conver 
sation  ended.  But  there  was  something  still  in  the  bosom  of 
Janet  which  needed,  and  at  length  forced,  its  utterance  :— 

"And  yet,  Rose,  there  is  one  thing  which  you  have  wd 
which  pains  me  greatly.  It  may  be  true,  that  though,  in 
seeking  Mellichampe  day  by  day,  and  hour  by  hour,  I  only 
feel  myself  more  truly  devoted  to  him  ;  it  may  be  that  such 
will  not  be  the  feeling  with  him;  it  may  be  that  he  will,  HP 


MELLICHAMPE. 

you  say,  grow  tired  of  that  which  he  sees  so  frequently;  it  may  be 
that  he  will  turn  away  from  me,  and  weary  of  my  regards.  I  have 
heard  before  this,  Rose,  that  the  easy  won  was  but  little  val 
ued  of  men  —  that  the  seeker  was  still  unsought  —  and  that 
when  the  heart  of  women  was  secured,  she  failed  to  enchain 
that  of  her  captor.  Oh,  Eose,  it  is  death  to  think  so.  Did 
I  dream  that  Mellichampe  would  slight  me  —  did  I  think  that 
he  could  turn  from  me  with  a  weary  spirit  and  an  indiffer 
ent  eye,  I  should  pray  to  perish  now  —  even  now,  when  he  speaks  to 
and  smiles  upon  me  in  such  sort  as  never  man  spoke  to 
and  smiled  upom  women  whom  he  could  deceive,  or  whom  he  did  not 
love." 

And  her  head  sank  upon  the  shoulder  of  her  companion,  and  she 
sobbed  with  the  fullness  of  her  emotion,  as  if  her  heart  were  indeed 
breaking. 

It  was  long  that  day  —  long  in  her  estimate,  not  less  tnan 
in  that  of  Mellichampe  —  before  she  paid  her  usual  visit  to 
the  chamber  of  her  lover.  She  was  then  compelled  to  listen  to 
those  reproaches  from  his  lips  which  her  own  heart  told  her 
were  justly  uttered.  Influenced  more  than  she  was  willing  to 
admit,  even  to  herself,  by  the  suggestions  of  Rose  Duncan, 
she  had  purposely  kept  away  until  hour  after  hour  had  passed 
(how  drearily  to  both !)  before  she  took  courage  to  reject  the 
idle  restraints  of  conventional  arrangement,  which  never  yet 
had  proper  concern  with  the  business  of  unsophisticated  affection. 
Gently  he  chid  her  with  that  neglect  for  which  she  could  offer  no 
sort  of  excuse;  but  she  hid  her  head  in  his  bosom,  and  murmured 
forth  the  true  cause  of  her  delay,  as  she  whispered,  in  scarce  audible 
accents: — 

"Ah,  Earnest,  you  will  tire  of  me  at  last;  you  will  only  see  too 
much  of  me;  and  I  am  always  so  same,  so  like  myself,  and  have  so 
few  changes  by  which  to  amuse  you,  that  you  will  weary  of  the  pres 
ence  of  your  poor  Janet." 

"Foolish  fears  —  foolish  fears,  Janet,  and  too  unjust  to  me, 
and  too  injurious  to  us  both,  to  permit  me  to  suffer  them 
longer.  It  is  because  you  are  always  the  same,  always  so 
like  yourself,  that  I  love  you  so  well.  I  am  secure,  in  this 
proof,  against  your  change.  I  am  secure  of  your  stability,  and 


LOVE   PASSAGES.  289 

feel  happy  to  believe  that,  though  all  things  alter  besides,  you 
at  least  will  be  inflexible  in  your  continued  love  for  me." 

"Ah,  be  sure  of  t-hat,  Ernest;  it  is  too  sweet  to  love,  and 
too  dear  to  be  loved  by  you,  for  me  to  change,  lest  I  should 
find  you  change  also.  I  ean  not  change,  I  feel,  until  my  very 
heart  shall  decay.  The  seeds  of  love  which  have  been  sown 
within  it  were  sown  by  your  hands,  and  they  acknowledge 
you  only  as  the  proper  owner.  Their  blight  can  only  follow 
the  blight  of  the  soil  in  which  they  are  planted,  or  only  perish 
through  — " 

She  paused,  and  the  tears  flowed  too  freely  to  permit  her 
to  conclude  the  sentence. 

"Through  what,  Janet?"  he  demanded,  In  a  murmuring 
and  low  tone  she  replied,  instantly:  — 

"Only  through  the  neglect  of  him  who  planted  them." 

He  folded  her  to  his  heart,  and  she  believed  the  deep,  fond 
asseveration  in  which  he  assured  her  that  no  fear  was  more 
idle  than  that  which  she  had  just  expressed. 

The  shrill  tones  of  the  trumpet  startled  the  lovers  from  tueir 
momentary  bliss. 

"That  sound,"  he  said  —  "it  makes  my  wound  shoot  with 
pain,  as  if  the  blood  clamored  there  for  escape.  How  I  hate 
to  hear  its  notes  —  sweet  as  they  are  to  me  when  I  am  on 
horseback  —  here  in  this  dungeon,  and  denied  to  move!" 

An  involuntary  sigh  escaped  the  maiden  as  she  listened  to 
this  language,  and  it  came  to  her  lips  to  say,  though  she  spoke 
not :  — 

"  But  you  are  here  with  me,  in  this  dungeon,  Ernest,  and  with 
you  I  am  never  conscious  of  restraint  or  regret.  Alas  for  me  ! 
foiuce  I  must  feel  that,  while  I  have  no  other  thought  of  pleas 
ure  but  that  which  comes  with  your  presence,  Ernest,  your 
pulse  bounds  and  beats  with  the  desire  of  a  wider  world,  and 
of  other  conquests,  even  when  I,  whom  you  so  profess  to  love 
beyorrd  all  other  objects,  am  here  sitting  by  your  side !" 

The  sigh  reached  the  ears  of  Mellicbampe,  and  his  quick 
sense  and  conscious  thought  readily  divined  the  cause  of  her 
emotion. 

"Wonder  not,  my  Janet,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  caught  her 


290  MELLTCHAMFR. 

to  liis  bosom  —  "  wonder  not  that  I  chafe  at  this  restraint,  even 
though  blessed  Avith  your  sympathy  and  presence.  Here,  I 
am  not  less  conscious  of  the  tenure  by  which  I  hold  your  pres 
ence  and  my  own  life,  than  of  the  thousand  pleasures  which 
your  presence  brings  me.  I  love  not  the  less  because  I  pine 
to  love  in  security  ;  and  feel  not  the  less  happy  by  your  side 
because  I  long  for  the  moment  to  arrive  when  no  power  can 
separate  us.  Now,  are  we  not  at  the  mercy  of  a  wretch,  whom 
we  know  to  possess  no  scruples  of  conscience,  and  who  feels 
few,  if  any,  of  the  restraints  of  power?  In  his  mood,  at  his 
caprice,  we  may  be  torn  asunder,  and  —  but  let  us  speak  of 
other  things." 

And  the  conversation  turned  upon  brighter  topics.  The 
uttered  hopes  and  the  wishes  of  Mellichampe  cheered  the 
heart  of  the  maiden, -until,  even  while  the  tears  of  a  delicious 
sensibility  were  streaming  from  her  eyes,  she  forgot  that  hopo 
had  its  sorrows;  she  forgot  that  love  —  triumphant  and  impe 
rial  love  —  has  still  been  ever  known  as  the  born  victim  of 
vicissitudes. 


GUILTY    SCHEMES.  291 


CHAPTER   XXXV 

GUILTY    SCHEMES. 

THREE  days  elapsed  from  the  departure  of  Blonay  with 
v /olonel  Tarleton  before  he  returned  to  Piney  Grove.  Barsfield 
grew  impatient.  He  had  matured  his  plan  in  his  mind  ;  he 
liftd  devised  the  various  processes  for  the  accomplishment  of 
his  purpose,  and  he  was  feverish  and  restless  until  he  could 
confer  with  his  chief  agent  in  the  business.  He  came  at  last, 
and  first  brought  intelligence  to  the  tory  of  the  failure  of  the 
Jegionary  colonel  to  surprise  the  wary  Marion. 

"  And  where  now  is  Colonel  Tarleton]"  demanded  Barsfield. 

"  Gone  up  after  the  '  game  cock.'  "* 

"I'm  glad  of  it,"  said  the  tory,  involuntarily.  "He  might 
have  been  in  our  way.  When  did  you  separate  from  him  ?" 

"  Day  before  yesterday :  he  went  up  the  river.  I  went 
back  into  the  swamp." 

"And  why?  Had  not  the  rebels  left  it?  Did  you  not  say 
that  they  crossed  the  river  on  the  approach  of  Tarleton  ?" 

"Yes  —  but,  adrat  it!  they  crossed  back  mighty  soon  after 
Tarleton  had  gone  out  of  sight." 

"And  they  are  even  now  in  the  swamp  again  ?" 

"  Jist  as  they  was  at  first." 

"The  devil!  And  you  have  seen  them  there  since  the 
departure  of  Tarleton  ?" 

"Reckon  I  has." 

"  They  are  audacious,  but  we  shall  rout  them  soon.  My 
loyalists  are  corning  in  rapidly,  and  I  shall  soon  be  able,  1 

'Colonel  Sumter  — so  styled  by  Tarleton  himself.  Thi«  was  no  lesg  th* 
lummt  ae  giterre  of  Sumtcr  than  \v:is  "  the  swamp-fox"  that  of  Marion.  I?,,t>> 
namett  are  Bir.gt.ilurlv  characteristic 


•292  MKLLTCIIAMTE. 

trust,  to  employ  YOU  again,  and  I  hope  with  more  success,  in 
ferreting  tliem  out.  But  why  did  you  delay  so  long  to  return! 
Have  you  seen  your  enemy?" 

"  Ad  rat  it,  yes,"  replied  the  other,  coldly,  though  with  some 
show  of  mortification. 

"Where  —  in  the  swamp?" 

"No;  on  the  road  here,  jist  afore  dark  last  night ;  a  leetle 
more  than  l>ng  rifle  shot  from  the  front  of  the  avenue." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  'Tworn't  well.  I  tracked  him  over  half  a  mile  afore  T 
could  git  a  shot — " 

The  half-breed  paused. 

"  What  then?"  demanded  Barsfield,  impatiently. 

"  Ad  rat  it  !  jist  as  I  was  guine  to  pull  trigger,  a  pain,  some 
thing  just  like  a  hammer-strike,  went  into  my  elbow,  and  the 
bullet — 'twas  a  chawed  one,  too  —  must  have  gone  fur  enough 
from  the  skull  'twas  aimed  fur." 

"  You  missed  him  ?"  inquired  Barsfield. 

"  Reckon  I  did.  He  stuck  to  his  critter  jist  as  if  nothing 
had  happened  strange  to  him,  and  rode  off  in  a  mighty  hurry." 

"And  how  came  you  to  miss  him?  You  hold  yourself  a 
good  shot." 

"  'Tain't  often  I  miss  ;  but  I  felt  all  over,  afore  I  pulled  upon 
him,  that  I  was  guine  to  miss.  Something  seemed  to  tell  me 
so.  I  was  quite  too  quick,  you  see,  and  didn't  take  time  to 
think  where  I  should  lay  my  bullet." 

"  Yet  you  may  have  hit  him.  These  men  of  Marion  some 
times  stick  on  for  hours  after  they  get  the  death  wound — long 
enough,  certainly,  to  get  away  into  some  d  —  d  swamp  or  other, 
where  there's  no  getting  at  the  carcass." 

"  Adrat  it  —  I'm  fear'd  I  hain't  troubled  him  much.  I  felt 
as  if  I  shouldn't  hit  him.  I  was  so  consarnen  to  hit  him,  you 
see,  that  my  eye  trimbled.  But  there's  no  helping  it  now. 
There's  more  chances  yet." 

"  You  seek  him  every  day  ?"  inquired  Barsfield,  curious  to 
learn  the  habits  of  a  wretch  so  peculiar  in  his  nature. 

"  And  night,  a'most  every  day  and  night,  when  I  reckon 
there's  a  chance  to  find  him  " 


GUILTY    SCHEMES.  293 

"But  how  do  you  calculate  these  chances  ?" 

"  I've  got  amost  all  his  tracks.  He's  a  master  of  the  scouts, 
and  as  I  knows  pretty  much  where  they  all  keeps,  I  follows 
him  when  he  goes  the  rounds." 

"Why,  then,  have  yoU  not  succeeded  better  before?  Have 
you  not  frequently  seen  him  before  last  night  ?  —  did  you  never 
get  a  shot  till  then  ?" 

"Yes,  three  times  ;  but  then  he  had  other  sodgers  with  him, 
good  shots,  too,  and  rail  swamp-suckers,  sich  as  John  Davis, 
who's  from  Goose  Creek,  and  can  track  a  swamp  sucker  jist 
as  keen  as  myself.  A  single  shot  must  be  a  sure  shot,  or  'taint 
,1  safe  one.  So  we  always  says  at  Dorchester,  and  its  reason, 
too.  It  wouldn't  be  no  use  to  shoot  one,  and  be  shot  by  two 
jist  after.  There  wouldn't  be  no  sense  in  that." 

"  No,  but  little ;  and  yet  I  shall  probably  have  to  take  some 
risk  of  that  sort  with  my  enemy.  Do  yon  know  Blonay,  that 
I'm  thinking  to  let  Mellichampe  run  ?" 

"  You  ain't,  sartin  now,  cappin  !     Don't  you  hate  him  ?" 

"Yes!  as  bitterly  as  ever.  You  wonder  that  I  should  so 
determine  toward  my  enemy.  He  is  still  such,  and  I  am 
his,  not  less  now  than  ever.  But  I  have  been  thinking 
differently  of  the  matter.  I  will  meet  him  only  like  a  man, 
and  a  man  of  honor.  His  life  is  in  my  hands;  I  could  have 
him  murdered  in  his  bed,  but  I  will  not.  More  than  this, 
my  word,  as  you  know,  will  convict  him  as  a  spy  upon  iny 
camp,  and  this  would  hang  him  upon  a  public  gallows  in 
the  streets  of  Charleston.  I  Avill  even  save  him  from  this 
doom.  I  will  save  him,  that  we  may  meet  when  neither  sliall 
have  any  advantage  other  than  that  which  his  own  skill, 
strength,  and  courage,  shall  impart.  You  shall  help  me,  or 
rather  help  him,  in  this." 

"  How?"  was  the  very  natural  response  of  the  half-breed. 

"  Assist  him  to  escape.  Hear  me,  if  he  does  not  escapn 
before  the  week  is  out,  I  am  commanded  to  conduct  him  to 
Charleston,  to  stand  his  trial  as  a  spy,  under  charges  which 
I  myself  must  bring  forward.  He  must  be  convicted,  and 
must  perish  as  I  have  said,  unless  he  escapes  from  my  cus 
tody  before.  He  is  too  young,  and,  I  may  add,  too  noble. 


294 


MKLLICOAMfE. 


to  die  in  so  disgraceful  a  manner.  Besides,  that  will  be 
robbing  rne  of  my  own  revenge,  which  I  now  desire  to  take 
with  my  own  hands." 

The  last  suggestion  was  better  understood  by  the  Indian 
spirit  of  Blonay  than  all  the  rest.  The  tory  captain  proceed 
ed — 

11  There  are  yet  other  reasons  which  prompt  me  to  desire  his 
escape,  reasons  which,  though  stronger  than  a;iy  of  those  given, 
it  is  not  necessary,  nor,  indeed,  would  it  be  advisable,  for  me 
to  disclose  now.  It  is  enough  that  I  save  him  from  a  fate  no 
less  certain  than  degrading.  You  can  not  object  to  give  your 
co-operation  in  saving  the  life  which  you  were  employed  to 
take." 

The  half-breed  did  not  refuse  the  new  employment  thus 
offered  to  his  hands  ;  but  his  words  were  so  reluctantly 
brought  forth  as  clearly  to  imply  a  doubt  as  to  whether  the 
one  service  would  be  equally  grateful  with  the  other. 

"How?"  exclaimed  Barsfield;  "would  you  rather  destroy 
than  save  ?" 

"  Adrat  it,  cappin,  it's  easier  to  shoot  a  man  than  take  a 
journey." 

The  tory  captain  paused  for  a  moment,  and  surveyed 
closely  the  features  of  the  savage.  His  own  glance  denoted 
no  less  of  the  fierce  spirit  which  had  dictated  the  answer 
of  the  latter,  and  gladly,  at  that  moment,  would  he  have 
sent  the  assassin  forward  to  the  chamber  of  his  enemy,  in 
i  rder  to  the  immediate  fulfilment  of  the  contemplated  crime. 
But  a  more  prudent,  if  not  a  better  thought,  determined  him 
otherwise.  He  subdued,  as  well  as  he  could,  the  rising  em<> 
tion.  He  strove  to  speak  calmly,  and  we  may  add,  benevo 
lently,  and  a  less  close  observer  of  bad  passions  and  bad  inch 
than  Blonay  might  have  been  deceived  by  the  assumed  and 
hypocritical  demeanor  of  Barsfield. 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Blonay,  it  must  not  be.  He  is  my  enemy,  but 
he  is  honorably  such  ;  and  as  an  honorable  enemy,  I  am 
bound  to  meet  him.  I  must  take  no  advantage  of  circum 
stances.  He  must  have  fair  play,  and  I  must  trust  then  to 
good  limbs,  and  what  little,  skill  I  may  have  in  my  weapon 


GUILTY    SCHEMES. 


295 


to  revenge  me  in  my  wrongs  upon  him.  You,  perhaps,  do  not 
comprehend  this  sort  of  generosity.  Your  way  is  to  kill  your 
enemy  when  you  can,  and  in  the  most  ready  manner;  and, 
perhaps,  if  the  mere  feeling  of  hostility  were  alone  to  be 
considered,  yours  would  'be  as  proper  a  mode  as  any  other. 
But  men  who  rank  high  in  society  must  be  regulated  by  its 
notions.  To  gratify  a  feeling  is  not  so  important  as  to  gratify 
it  after  a  particular  fashion.  We  kill  an  enemy  for  our  OAVH 
satisfaction ;  but  our  seconds  have  a  taste  to  be  consulted,  and 
they  provide  the  weapons,  and  say  when  and  how  we  shall 
strike,  and  stand  by  to  share  the  sport." 

"  Adrat  it,  but  there's  no  need  of  them.  A  dark  wood,,  close 
on  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  where  you  can  roll  the  carrion  in 
the  bog,  and  that's  all  one  wants  for  his  enemy  after  the  bul 
let's  once  gone  through  his  head." 

"So  you  think,  and  so,  perhaps,  you  may  think  rightly  ; 
but  I  move  in  a  different  world  from  you,  and  am  compelled 
to  think  differently.  I  can  not  revenge  myself  after  your 
fashion.  I  must  give  my  enemy  a  chance  for  a  fair  fight.  I 
must  devise  a  plan  for  his  escape  from  the  guards,  and  in  that, 
Blonay,  I  require  your  assistance." 

"Adrat  it,  cappin,  if  so  be  all  you  want  is  to  let  the  fellow 
off,  why  don't  you  let  him  run  without  any  fuss.  You  don't 
want  my  help  for  that.  He'll  promise  to  meet  you,  I  reckon, 
in  any  old  field,  and  then  you  can  settle  your  concern  without 
more  trouble." 

"  What !  and  be  trussed  up  by  Cornwallis  or  Tarleton  a 
moment  after,  as  a  traitor,  upon  the  highest  tree  !  You  seem 
to  forget,  Mr.  Blonay,  that,  in  doing  as  you  now  advise,  I  must 
be  guilty  of  a  breach  of  trust,  and  a  disobedience  of  orders, 
which  are  remarkably  positive  and  strict.  Your  counsel  is 
scarcely  agreeable,  Blonay,  and  anything  but  wise." 

"  Adrat  it,  cappin,  won't  it  be  a  breach  of  trust,  any  how 
supposing  the  chap  gits  off  from  prison  by  my  help  ?" 

"  Not  if  I  can  show  to  my  superior  that  I  maintained  a 
proper  guard  over  him,  and  used  every  effort  for  his  recapture." 

"  But  how  can  he  git  off  if  you  does  that  ?"  inquired  the 
seemingly  dull  Blonay. 


296 


MELLICRAMFE. 


"  I  will  n  )t  do  so.  I  will  not  maintain  a  proper  guard.  I 
will  give  you  certain  opportunities,  which  shall  be  known  only 
to  yourself,  and,  at  the  same  time,  I  shall  keep  up  an  appear 
ance  of  the  utmost  watchfulness  ;  so  that  whatever  blame  may 
attach  to  the  proceeding,  will  fall  full,  not  upon  my  head,  but 
the  sentinel's." 

"  Adrat  it,  cappin,  I  suppose  it's  all  right,  as  you  say.  I 
can't  say  myself.  I  don't  see,  but  should  like  to  hear,  cappin, 
what  all's  to  be  done." 

"  Hear  me  :  the  prisoner  must  be  taught  that  you  are  his 
friend,  willing,  for  certain  reasons,  and  for  good  rewards,  to  ex 
tricate  him  from  his  predicament." 

"  Yes,  but  how  is  he  to  know  that?  You  wouldn't  let  any 
body  to  sec  him,  nobody  but  the  doctor  and  the  young  lady." 

"True;  but  it  is  through  the  young  lady  herself  that  the 
matter  is  to  be  executed — " 

"  I  won't  do  nothin'  to  hurt  the  gal,  cappin,"  exclaimed  Bio- 
nay,  quickly  and  decisively. 

"  Fool  !  I  ask  no  service  from  you  which  can  possibly  da 
her  harm.  Be  not  so  hasty  in  your  opinions,  but  hear  me  out 
It  is  through  her  that  you  are  to  act  on  him.  She  has  distin 
guished  you  with  some  indulgences — she  sent  you  your  break 
fast  this  morning — " 

"  She's  a  mighty  good  gal  !"  said  the  other,  meditatively, 
and  interrupting  the  now  deeply-excited  and  powerfully-inter 
ested  Barsfield. 

"  She  is,"  said  the  tory,  in  a  tone  artfully  conciliatory  ;  "  she 
is,  and  it  will  both  serve  and  please  her  to  extricate  this  youth 
from  the  difficulties  which  surround  him.  He  is  an  object  of 
no  small  importance  in  her  sight." 

"  The  gal  loves  him,"  still  meditatively  said  the  other. 

"  Yes,  and  you  now  have  an  excellent,  opportunity  to  offer 
her  your  service  without  being  suspected  of  any  wrong.  You 
are  to  seek  her,  and  tell  her  what  you  have  hoard  respecting 
the  prisoner.  Say  that  he  is  to  be  sent  to  town  to  stand  his 
trial;  that  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  will  be  convicted  if  he 
goes,  and  that  his  execution  will  follow  as  certainly  as  soon. 
You  can  then  pledge  yourself  to  save  him  —  to  get  him  out  of 


G  UILTY    SCHEMES. 


297 


the  camp  — to  place  liim  safely  in  the  neighboring  woods,  be 
yond  my  reach  and  my  pursuit.  She  will,  no  doubt,  close  with 
your  offer  and  by  this  act  you  will  serve  me  quite  as  much  as 
the  prisoner  and  herself." 

To  this  plan  Blonay  started  sundry  little  objections,  for  all 
of  which  the  tory  had  duly  provided  himself  with  overruling 
answers.  The  half-breed,  simply  enough,  demanded  why 
Barsfield,  proposing,  as  he  did,  to  render  so  great  a  service  to 
the  prisoner,  should  scruple  to  say  to  him  and  to  the  you')- 
lady  who  watched — both  sufficiently  interested  to  keep  his 
secret  — what  he  now  so  freely  said  to  him  ?  This  was  soon 
answered. 

"They  will  suspect  me  of  a  design  to  involve  the  prisoner 
ia  some  new  difficulty,  as  they  have  no  reason  to  suppose  me 
desirous  of  serving  either.  I  have  no  motive  to  befriend  him 
—  none.  But,  on  the  contrary,  they  know  me  as  his  enemy, 
and  believe  the  worst  of  me  accordingly.  You  only  know  why 
I  propose  this  scheme." 

The  half-breed  was  silenced,  though  not  convinced.  Suspi 
cious  by  nature  and  education,  he  began  to  conjecture  other 
purposes  as  prevailing  in  the  mind  of  his  employer;  but,  for 
the  time,  he  promised  to  prepare  himself,  and  to  comply  with 
his  various  requisitions.  It  was  not  until  he  reached  the  woods 
and  resumed  his  position  against  his  tree,  that  the  t«ue  policy 
of  the  tory  captain  came  out  before  his  mind. 


MKM.ICHAMPK. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

THE    SUBTLETY    OF    THE    TORY. 

WHAT  were  the  designs  of  the  tory  ?  "  What  bloody  scene 
had  Roscius  now  to  act?"  Could  it  be  that  Barsfield  was 
really  prompted  by  a  new  emotion  of  generous  hostility  ? 
H«id  his  feelings  undergone  a  change,  and  did  he  really  feel 
an  honorable  desire,  and  meditate  to  save  his  rival  Melli- 
chainpe  from  an  ignominious  death,  only  for  the  self-satisfying 
vengeance  which  he  promised  to  himself  from  the  employment 
of  his  own  weapon?  No:  these  were  not  the  thoughts,  not 
the  purposes,  of  the  malignant  tory. 

The  half-breed  was  not  deceived  by  the  gracious  and  strange 
shaws  of  new-born  benevolence  which  appeared  to  prompt  him. 
Had  the  death  of  Mellichampe  been  certain,  as  the  result  of  his 
threatened  trial,  Barsfield  would  have  been  content  to  have 
obeyed  his  orders,  and  to  carry  the  victim  to  Charleston  for 
trial  and  execution.  But  that  fate  was  not  certain.  He  felt 
assured,  too,  that  it  was  not  even  probable.  Cornwallis  and 
Tarleton,  both,  had  shed  more  blood  wantonly  already  than 
they  could  well  account  or  atone  for  to  public  indignation. 
The  British  house  of  commons  already  began  to  declaim  upon 
the  wanton  and  brutal  excesses  which  popular  indignation  had 
ascribed  to  the  British  commanders  in  America;  and  the  oili- 
cers  of  the  southern  invading  armies  now  half  repented  of  the 
crimes  which,  in  the  moment  of  exasperation,  they  had  been 
tempted  to  commit  upon  those  who,  as  they  were  familiarly 
styled  rebels,  seemed  consequently  to  have  been  excluded 
hitherto  from  the  consideration  due  to  men.  There  was  a 
pause  in  that  sanguinary  mood  which  had  heretofore  stimu 
lated  Cornwallis,  Rav  don,  Tarleton,  Balfour,  and  a  dozer. 


THE    SUBTLETY    OF    THE    TORY.  -'J' 

other  petty  tyrants  of  the  time  and  country,  to  tlic  most  atro 
cious  offences  against  justice  and  humanity.  They  began  to 
feel,  if  not  the  salutary  rebukings  of  conscience,  the  more 
obvious  suggestions  of  fear*;  for,  exasperated  to  madness  by 
the  reckless  want  of  consideration  shown  to  their  brethren  in 
arms  when  becoming  captives  to  the  foe,  the  officers  of  the 
southern  American  forces,  banded  and  scattered,  pledged  them 
selves  solemnly  in  writing  to  retaliate  in  like  manner,  man  foi 
man,  upon  sucli  British  officers  as  should  fall  into  their  hands; 
thus  voluntarily  offering  themselves  to  a  liability,  the  heavy 
responsibilities  of  which  sufficiently  guarantied  their  sincerity. 
To  the  adoption  of  this  course  they  also  required  a  like  pledge 
from  the  commander-in-chief ;  and  General  Greene  was  com 
pelled  to  acquiesce  in  their  requisition.  The  earnest  charac 
ter  of  these  proceedings,  known  as  they  were  to  the  enemy,  had 
its  effect;  and  the  rebukes  of  conscience  were  more  respected 
when  coupled  with  the  suggestions  of  fear.  * 

Barsfield  knew  that  the  present  temper  of  his  superiors  was 
not  favorable  to  the  execution  of  Mellichampe.  He  also  felt 
that  his  own  testimony  against  the  youth  must  be  unsatisfac 
tory,  if  met  by  that  of  Mr.  Berkeley  and  his  daughter.  He 
dreaded  that  Mellichampe  should  reach  Charleston,  though  as 
a  prisoner,  and  become  known  in  person  to  any  of  the  existing 
powers,  as  he  well  knew  the  uncertain  tenure  by  which  the 
possessions  were  secured  which  had  been  allotted  to  him,  in  a 
moment  of  especial  favor,  by  the  capricious  generosity  of  the 
British  commander.  Guilt,  in  this  way,  for  ever  anticipates 
and  fears  the  thousand  influences  which  it  raises  up  against 
itself;  and  never  ceases  to  labor  in  providing  against  events, 
which  for  a  long  time  it  may  baffle,  but  which,  in  the  moment 
of  greatest  security,  must  concentrate  themselves  against  all 
its  feeble  barriers,  and  overthrow  them  with  a  breath. 

Barsfield  had  also  his  personal  hostility  to  gratify,  and  of 
this  he  might  be  deprived  if  his  prisoner  reached  the  city 
in  safety.  His  present  design  was  deeply  laid,  therefore,  in 
order  that  he  might  not  be  defrauded.  Janet  Berkeley  was 
to  be  the  instrument  by  which  Mellichampe  was  to  be  taught 
to  apprehend  for  his  life,  as  a  convicted  spy  under  a  military 


300  MELLICHAMPE. 

sentence.  The  ignominious  nature  of  such  a  deom  would,  he 
was  well  aware,  prompt  the  youth  to  seize  upon  any  and  every 
chance  to  escape  from  custody.  This  opportunity  was  to  be  given 
him,  in  part.  The  guards  were  to  be  so  placed  as,  at  the  given 
moment,  to  leave  the  passage  from  his  chamber  free.  The  road 
was  to  be  cleared  for  him  at  a  designated  point,  and  this  road, 
under  the  guidance  of  Blonay,  the  youth  was  to  pursue. 

But  it  was  no  part  of  Barsfield's  design  to  suffer  his  escape. 
An  ambush  was  to  be  laid  for  the  reception  of  the  fugitive,  and 
here  the  escaping  prisoner  was  to  be  shot  down  without  a  question  : 
and,  as  he  was  an  escaping  prisoner,  such  a  fate,  Barsfield  well 
knew,  might  be  inflicted  with  the  most  perfect  impunity.  The 
cruel  scheme  was  closely  treasured  in  his  mind,  and  only  such 
portions  of  his  plan  as  might  seem  noble  without  the  rest  were 
permitted  to  appear  to  the  obtuse  sense  of  the  half-breed,  who 
was -destined  to  perish  at  the  same  moment  with  the  prisoner  he 
was  employed  to  set  free. 

Long  and  closely  did  the  two  debate  together  on  the  particular 
steps  to  be  taken  for  carrying  the  scheme  of  the  tory  into  execution; 
and  it  was  arranged  that,  while  he,  Barsfield,  should,  in  the  prog 
ress  of  the  same  day,  apprise  Janet  of  the  contemplated  removal 
of  Mellichampe  to  the  city  for  his  trial,  Blonay  should  mature  his 
plan  for  approaching  the  maiden  on  a  subject  in  which,  to  succeed 
at  all,  it  was  necessary  that  the  utmost  delicacy  of  address  should 
be  observed.  The  half-breed  was  to  assume  a  new  character.  He 
was  to  appear  before  her  with  an  avowal  of  sympathy  which 
seemed  rather  a  mockery,  coming  from  one  so  incapable  and  low. 
He  was  to  make  a  profession  of  regard  for  her,  and  for  him 
whom  she  regarded,  and  thus  obtain  her  confidence,  without 
which  he  could  do  nothing.  Barsfield  did  not  believe  it  possible 
for  such  a  creature  to  feel,  and  his  only  fear  was  that  the 
task  would  be  too  novel  and  too  difficult  for  him  to  perform 
decently  and  with  success.  But  the  tory  was  mistaken  in  his 
man.  He  did  not  sufficiently  dive  into  the  nature  of  the  seem 
ingly  obdurate  wretch  before  him;  and  he  had  not  the  most 
distant  idea  of  the  occult  and  mysterious  causes  of  sympathy 


THE    SUBTLKTY    OF    THE    TORY.  O 

for  the  maiden  which  were  at  work  in  the  breast  of  the  savage, 
•whom  lie  loathed  even  while  employing,  ami  for  whom  he 
meditated  the  same  doom  of  death,  at  the  same  time,  which 
his  hands  were  preparing  for  Mellichampe. 

But  Blonay  saw  through  his  intentions;  and,  confident  that 
the  plan  was  designed  for  the  murder  of  Mellichampe,  he 
suspected,  at  the  same  time,  the  design  upon  himself. 

"  He  won't  want  me  after  that,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as 
soon  as  he  got  into  the  woods;  and  he  chuckled  strangely  and 
bitterly  as  he  thought  over  the  affair.  Lijj»je_w_oods  he  could 
think  freely,  and  he  soon  conceived  the  entire  plan  of  his 
employer.  He  determined  accordingly.  He  was  a  tactician, 
and  knew  how  much  was  to  be  made  out,  of  the  opinion  enter 
tained  by  Barsfield  of  his  stolidity,  lie  was  an  adept  at  that 
art  which  governs  men  by  sometimes  adopting,  seemingly, 
their  own  standards  of  judgment. 

He  went  instantly  hack  to  the  tory,  and,  drawing  from  his 
purse  the  sum  of  five  guineas  which  the  other  had  given  while 
engaging  him,  he  spoke  thus,  while  returning  it:  — 

"  I  reckon,  cappin,  you'd  better  git  somebody  else  to  do 
your  business  for  you  in  this  'ere  matter.  I  can't. 

"Can't!   why?"  responded  Barsfield,  in  astonishment. 
"Well,  you  see,  cappin  —  I've  been  thinking  over  the  busi- 
nesSj  and,  you  see,  I  can't  see  it  to   the  bottom.      I    don't 
understand  it." 

"And  what  then?  Why  should  you  understand  it?  You 
have  only  to  do  what  is  told  you.  I  understand  it,  and  that's 
enough,  I  imagine." 

"I  reckon  not,  cappin  —  axing  your  pardon.  I  never  med 
dles  with  business  I  don't  understand.  If  so  be  you  says,  'Go 
to  the  chap's  room,  and  put  your  knife  in  him,'  I'll  do  that  for 
the  money ;  but  I  can't  think  of  the  other  business.  I  don't 
see  to  the  bottom  —  it's  all  up  and  down,  and  quite  a  confusion 
to  me." 

The  proposal  to  murder  Mellichampe  off-hand  for  the  five 
guineas  would  have  been  accepted  instantly,  were  it  the  policy 
of  Barsfield  to  have  it  done  after  that  fashion:  but  he  dared 
not  clone  with  the  tempting  offer.  The  willingness  of  Blonay, 


302  MKLLIOHAMl'K. 

however,  to  commit  the  act,  had  the  effect  upon  Barsfield's 
mind  which  the  half-breed  desired.  It  induced  a  degree  of 
confidence  in  him  which  the  tory  was  previously  disposed  to 
withhold.  He  now  sought  to  test  his  agent  a  little  more 
closely. 

"And  you  will  go  now  to  his  room  and  put  him  to  death  for 
the  same  money  ?" 

"  Say  the  word,  cappin,"  was  the  ready  response,  uttered 
with  the  composure  of  one  whose  mind  is  made  up  to  the  per 
formance  of  the  deed.  The  tory  paused  —  he  dared  not  comply. 

"  And  why  not  help  in  getting  him  clear?  Where's  the  dif 
ference1?" 

"'Cause  I  can't  see  what  you  want  to  clear  him  for,  when 
you  want  to  kill  him,  and  when  you  knows  he's  guine  to  be 
hung.  I  can't  see." 

"Never  mind:  it  is  my  desire  —  is  not  that  enough?  I 
choose  it  —  it  is  my  notion.  I  will  pay  you  for  my  notion. 
Do  what  I  have  said  —  herft  are  five  guineas  more.  Go  to  Miss 
Berkeley,  and  tell  her  what  I  have  taught  you." 

The  half-breed  hesitated,  or  seemed  to  hesitate.     The  bright 
gold  glittered  in  his  eye,  and  he  was  not  accustomed  to  with 
stand  temptation.     His  habit  almost  overcame  his  reflection, 
and  the  determined  conviction  of  his  mind  j  but  he  resisted  the 
suggestion  and  adhered  to  his  resolve. 

"  I'd  rather  not,  cappin  ;  I  reckon  I  can't.  If  you  says  now 
that  you  wants  to  kill  him,  I'll  help  you,  'cause  then  I  under 
stands  you  ;  but  to  git  him  out,  and  let  him  run  free,  jist  when 
there's  no  need  for  it,  and  when  you  hates  him  all  over,  is  too 
strange  to  me  —  I  can't  see  to  the  bottom." 

"And  you  will  not  do  as  you  have  said?"  demanded  the 
other,  with  some  vexation  in  his  tone  and  countenance. 

"  Well,  now,  cappin,  why  not  speak  out  the  plain  thing  as 
it  is,"  said  the  half-breed,  boldly;  "don't  I  see  how  'tis? 
When  you  gits  him  out,  you'll  put  it  to  him  —  that's  what  J 
understands.  If  it's  so,  say  so,  and  I'll  go  the  death  for  you 
but  I  aVt  guine  to  sarve  a  man  that  won't  let  me  know  the 
business  I'm  guine  upon.  Let  im>.  sec*  your  hand,  and  I'll  sr.y 
if  I  back  you." 


THE  SUBTLETY  OF  THK  TORY.  303 

This  was  bringing  the  matter  home,  and  Barsfield  at  once 
saw  that  there  was  no  hope  for  the  aid  of  the  half-breed  but  in 
full  confidence.  He  .made  a  merit  of  necessity. 

"I  have  only  sought  to  try  you.  I  wished  to  know  how  far 
you  were  willing  and  sagdcious  enough  to  serve  me.  I  am  sat 
isfied.  You  are  right.  The  boy  shall  not  escape  me,  though 
I  let  him  run.  You  hear  me  —  can  I  now  depend  on  you?" 

"  It's  a  bargain,  cappin,"  and  the  savage  received  the  guineas, 
which  were  soon  put  out  of  sight,  "it's  a  bargain:  say  how. 
when,  and  where,  and  there's  no  more  fuss." 

They  closed  hands  upon  the  contract,  and  Barsfield  now 
unfolded  his  designs  with  more  confidence.  It  was  arranged 
that  Blonay  should  carry  out  the  original  plan,  so  far  as  to 
communicating  with  Janet.  Her  acquiescence  following,  Mel- 
lichampe  was  to  be  led,  at  a  particular  hour,  on  a  specified 
night,  through  a  path  in  which  the  myrmidons  of  the  tory  were 
to  stand  prepared;  and  nothing  now  remained  —  so  Barsfield 
thought  —  in  the  way  of  his  successful  effort  at  revenge,  but,  to 
obtain  the  ministry  of  the  devoted  maiden  in  promoting  the 
scheme  which  was  to  terminate  in  the  murder  of  her  lover. 

Barsfield,  in  the  part  prosecution  of  his  design,  that  very 
evening  sought  a  private  conference  with  Janet  Berkeley 
which  was  not  denied  him. 

"What!"  exclaimed  Rose  Duncan,  as  she  heard  of  the  ap 
plication  and  of  her  cousin's  compliance,  "  what !  you  consent 
—  you  will  see  him  alone  ?  Surely,  Janet,  you  will  not?" 

"Why  not,  Rose?"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

"  Why  not ! — and  you  hate  him  so,  Janet?" 

"You  mistake  me,  Rose.  I  fear  Mr.  Barsfield— I  dread 
what  he  may  do;  but,  believe  me,  I  do  not  hate  him.  I 
should  not  fear  him  even,  did  I  not  know  that  he  hates  those 
whom  I  love." 

"But,  whether  you  hate  or  fear,  why  should  you  see  him  ? 
What  can  he  seek  you  for  but  to  make  his  sickening  protest  a 
tions  and  professions  over  and  over  again  ?  and  I  don't  see- 
that  civility  requires  that  you  should  hear  him  over  and  over 
again,  upon  such  a  subject,  whenever  he  takes  it  into  his  head 
to  address  you." 


304  MKLLICHAMPK. 

"It  will  be  lime  enough  to  dei'laiv  my  aversion,  Rose,  wlien 
I  know  that  such  is  his  subject.  To  .anticipate  now  would  be 
not  only  premature,  but  in  very  doubtful  propriety,  and  surely 
in  a  taste  somewhat  indelicate.  Such,  indeed,  can  scarcely 
be  the  subject  on  which  he  would  speak  with  me,  for  I  have 
already  answered  him  so  decisively  that  he  must  know  it  to 
be  idle." 

"Ah,  but  these  men  never  take  an  answer:  they  are  perti 
nacious  to  the  last  degree  ;  and  they  all  assume,  with  a  mon 
strous  self-complaisance,  that  a  woman  does  not  mean  'no' 
when  she  says  it.  Be  assured  Barsfield  will  have  little  else  to 
say.  His  speech  will  be  all  about  hearts  and  darts,  and  hopes 
and  fears,  and  all  such  silly  stuff  as  your  sentimentalists  deal 
in.  He  will  tell  you  about  Kaddipah,  and  promise  to  make 
you  its  queen,  and  you  will  tire  to  death  of  the  struggles  of 
the  great  bear  in  an  element  so  foreign  to  his  nature  as  that 
of  love." 

And,  while  she  spoke,  the  lively  girl  put  herself  in  posture, 
and  adopted  the  grin  and  the  grimace,  the  desperate  action 
and  affected  enthusiasm,  which  might  be  supposed  to  belong 
to  the  address  of  Barsfield  in  the  part  of  a  lover.  Janet  smiled 
sorrowfully  as  she  replied  — 

"  Ah,  Rose,  I  would  the  matter  upon  which  Barsfield  seeks 
me  were  not  more  serious  than  your  thoughts  assume  it  to  be 
But  I  can  not  think  with  you.     I  am  troubled  with  a  presenti 
ment  of  evil ;  I  fear  me  that  some  new  mischief  is  designed." 

"  Ob,  you  are  always  anticipating  evil ;  you  are  always  on 
the  look-out  for  clouds  and  storm." 

"  I  do  not  shrink  from  them,  Rose,  when  they  corns,"  said 
ihe  other,  gently. 

"  No,  no  !  you  are  brave  enough  :  would  I  were  half  so 
valiant,  sweet  cousin  of  mine!  But,  Janet,  if  you  dread  that 
Barsfield  has  some  new  mischief  afoot,  that  is  another  reason 
why  you  should  not  see  him.  Be  advised,  dear  Janet,  and  do 
not  go." 

"  I  mustv  Rose,  and  I  will,  for  that  very  reason.  I  will  look 
the  danger  in  the  face ;  I  will  not  blind  myself  to  its  coming. 
No!  let  the  bolt  be  shot — let  the  wo  come  —  let  thf  worst 


THE  SUBTLETY  OF  THE  TORY.  305 

happen,  rather  than  that  I  should  for  ever  dream,  and  for  ever 
dread,  the  worst.  Suffering  is  one  part  of  life  —  it  may  be  tho 
greatest  part  of  mine.  I  must  not  shrink  from  what  I  way 
designed  to  meet ;  and  God  give  me  strength  to  meet  it  as  I 
should,  and  cheer  me  to  bear  up  against  it  with  a  calm  forti 
tude.  I  feel  that  this  man  is  the  bringer  of  evil  tidings  :  I  am 
impressed  with  a  fear  which  almost  persuades  me  to  refuse 
him  this  meeting.  But,  as  I  know  this  feeling  to  be  a  fear, 
and  at  variance  with  my  duty  to  myself  not  less  than  to  Melli- 
champe,  I  will  not  refuse  him,  I  will  go  ;  I  will  hear  what  he 
would  say." 

And  here  I  must  remain,  stuck  up  like  a  painted  image,  to 
listen  to  Lieutenant  Clayton's  rose-water  compliments.  The 
man  is  so  band  boxy,  so  excruciatingly  tidy  and  trim  in  every 
thing  he  says,  so  measured  and  musical,  and  laughs  with  such 
continual  desperation,  that  he  sickens  me  to  death  to  enter 
tain  him." 

"  Yet  you  do  entertain  him,  Rose." 

"How  can  I  help  it?  You  will  not;  and  the  man  looks  as 
if  he  came  for  an  entertainment." 

"And  you  never  disappoint  him,  Rose." 

"  'Twould  be  too  cruel,  that,  Janet;  for  you  neither  look 
nor  say  anything  toward  it.  You  might  as  well  be  the  old 
Dutch  Venus,  stuck  up  in  the  corner,  whose  fat  cheeks  and 
small  eyes  used  to  give  your  grandfather  such  an  extensive 
subject  for  eulogy.  You  leave  all  the  task  of  keeping  up  the 
racket,  and  should  not  wonder  if  I  seek,  as  well  as  in  me  lies, 
to  maintain  your  guests  in  good  humor  with  themselves,  at 
least." 

"And  with  you.  You  certainly  succeed,  Rose,  in  both  ob 
jects.  Task  or  not,  you  are  not  displeased  with  the  labor  of 
entertaining  Lieutenant  Clayton,  if  I  judge  not  very  erro 
neously  of  your  eyes  and  features  generally.  And  then  your 
laugh,  too,  Rose  —  don't  speak  of  the  lieutenant's  —  your  laugh 
is,  of  all  laughs,  the  most  truly  natural  when  you  hearken  to 
his  good  sayings." 

"Janet,  you  are  getting  to  be  quite  censorious.  I  am 
shocked  at  you.  Really,  you  ought  to  know,  that  to  entertain 


306  MKLLICIIAMl'K. 

a  body,  if  you  set  out  with  that  intention,  you  a.  e  not  to  allow 
it  to  be  seen  that  you  are  making  an  effort.  To  please  others, 
the  first  rule  is  always  to  seem  pleased  yourself." 

"  True ;  you  not  only  seem  pleased  yourself,  but,  Rose,  do 
you  know  I  really  think  you  are  so  ?  You  laugh  as — " 

"Pshaw!  Janet  —  pshaw!  I  laugh  at  the  man,  and  not 
wit1-  him." 

"  I  fear  me,  now  I  think  of  it,  Rose,  that  he  has  discovered 
that.  Methinks  he  laughs  much  less  of  late  than  over :  ho 
looks  very  serious  at  times." 

"  I)o  you  really  think  so,  Janet?" 

"  1  do,  really." 

"  What  can  be  the  cause,  I  wonder  1" 

"  Perhaps  he  has  been  ordered  to  join  Cornwallis.  He 
npoke  of  some  such  matter,  you  remember,  but  a  week  ago." 

"  Yes,  I  remember ;  and  at  the  time,  if  you  recollect,  Janet, 
he  looked  rather  grave  while  stating  it,  though  he  laughed 
afterward ;  and  yet  the  laugh  did  not  seem  altogether  so 
natural :  there  was  something  exceedingly  constrained  and 
artificial  in  it." 

"  It  must  be  so,"  replied  Janet,  as  it  were  abstractedly. 
The  momentary  humor  which  had  prompted  her  to  annoy  her 
thoughtless  companion  had  passed  away,  in  the  sterner  consid 
eration  which  belonged  to  her  own  difficulties.  She  turned 
away  to  a  neighboring  window,  and  looked  forth  upon  the 
grove,  and  a  little  beyond,  where,  on  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
lay  the  encampment  of  Barsfield,  a  glance  at  which  involun 
tarily  drove  her  away  from  the  window.  When  her  eyes  were 
again  turned  upon  Rose  Duncan,  she  saw  that  the  usually 
light-hearted  girl  was  still  seated,  in  unwonted  silence,  with 
her  face  buried  in  her  hands.  The  whole  air  of  the  damsel 
was  full  of  unusual  thought  and  abstraction,  and  Janet  might 
have  seen  that  a  change  had  come  over  the  spirit  of  her  dream 
also,  but  that  her  fancy  was  saddened  by  the  strong  and 
besetting  fears  which  promised  her  a  new  form  of  trial  in  the 
meeting  with  the  tory. 


PICTURE    OF    LYNCH-LAW.  3».'7 


CHAPTER   XX'XVIl. 

PICTURE    OF    LYNCH-LAW. 

THAT  evening,  as  she  had  promised,  Janet  Berkeley  in 
dulged  Captain  Barsfield  with  the  interview  which  he  desired  ; 
and  while  Rose  Duncan  was  left  to  the  task,  pleasant  or  other 
wise,  of  entertaining  the  sentimental  yet  laughter-loving  lieu 
tenant,  the  graver  maiden,  in  an  adjoining  apartment,  was 
held  to  the  severer  trial  of  maintaining  the  uniform  complai 
sance  of  the  lady  and  the  courteous  consideration  of  the  hostess, 
while  listening  to  one  whose  every  movement  she  distrusted, 
and  whose  whole  bearing  toward  her  and  hers  had  been  posi 
tively  injurious,  if  not  always  hostile.  Barsfield,  too,  though 
moved  by  contradictory  feelings,  was  compelled  to  subject 
them  all  beneath  the  easy  deportment  and  conciliatory  de 
meanor  of  a  gentleman  in  the  presence  of  one  of  the  other  sex. 
He  .rose  to  meet  her  upon  her  entrance,  and  conducted  her  to 
a  chair.  A  few  moments  elapsed  before  he  spoke,  and  his 
words  were  then  brought  forth  Avith  the  difficulty  of  one  who  is 
somewhat  at  a  loss  where  to  begin.  At  length,  as  if  ashamed 
of  his  weakness,  he  commenced  without  preliminaries  upon 
the  immediate  subject  which  had  prompted  the  desire  for  the 
interview. 

"My  surgeon  tells  me,  Miss  Berkeley,  that  his  patient  — 
yours,  I  should  rather  say  —  Mr.  Mellichampe,  will  soon  be 
able  to  undergo  removal." 

"Removal,  sir!"  was  the  momentary  exclamation  of  Janet, 
with  a  show  of  pain,  not  less  than  of  surprise,  in  her  ingenuous 
countenance. 

"My  orders  are  to  remove  him  to  the  city,  as  soon  as  the 
eurgeon  shall  pronounce  him  in  a  fit  condition  to  bear  with  the 


308  MELL1CIIAMPK. 

fatigue.  He  tells  me  that  such  will  soon  be  the  case.  Mr 
Mellichampe  now  walks  his  chamber,  I  understand,  and  is  in 
every  respect,  rapidly  recovering  from  his  hurts." 

"  He  is  certainly  better  than  he  was,  Captain  Barsfield  ;  but 
he  is  yet  very,  very  feeble  —  too  feeble  quite  to  bear  with  the 
fatigues  of  such  a  journey." 

"  You  underrate  the  strength  of  the  young  gentleman,  Mis.s 
Berkeley.  He  is  a  well-knit,  hardy  soldier  for  one  so  youth 
ful,  and  will  suffer  less  than  you  imagine.  I  trust  that  my 
surgeon  does  not  report  incorrectly,  when  he  states  that  in  all 
probability  it  will  be  quite  safe  to  remove  him  at  the  com 
mencement  of  the  ensuing  week." 

"  So  soon  !"  was  the  unaffected,  the  almost  unconscious 
exclamation. 

"  It  is  painful  to  me  to  deprive  you,  Miss  Berkeley,  of  any 
pleasure  —  of  one,  too,  the  loss  of  which,  even  in  anticipation, 
seems  to  convey  so  much  anxiety  and  sorrow;  but  the  duties 
of  the  soldier  are  imperative." 

"  1  would  not  wish,  sir,  to  interfere  with  yours,  whatever  my 
own  wishes  may  be,  Captain  Barsfield,"  replied  the  maiden, 
with  a  degree  of  dignity  which  seemed  provoked  into  loftiness 
by  the  air  of  sarcasm  pervading  the  previous  speech  of  the 
tory. 

"  It  is  for  you,  sir,"  she  continued,  "  to  do  your  duty,  if  you 
so  esteem  it,  without  reference  to  the  weaknesses  of  a  woman, 
and,  least  of  all,  of  mine." 

"  You  mistake,  Miss  Berkeley  —  you  mistake  your  own 
worth,  not  less  than  my  feelings  and  present  objects.  Yoiu: 
weaknesses,  if  it  so  pleases  you  to  call  them,  are  sacred  in  my 
sight;  and,  though  my  duty  as  a  soldier  prompts  me  to  take 
the  course  with  the  prisoner  which  I  have  already  made 
known  to  you,  such  is  my  regard  to  your  wishes,  and  for  you, 
that  I  am  not  unwilling,  in  some  particulars,  to  depart  from 
that  course  with  the  desire  to  oblige  you." 

The  maiden  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"How  am  I  to  understand  this,  Captain  Barsfield  ?*' 

"  Oh,  Miss  Berkeley,  there  needs  no  long  explanation.  If 
Mellichampe  has  loved  yon,  yon  have  been  no  less  beloved  by 


PICTDRK    OF    LYIs'CIl-r.AW.  309 

me.  I  can  not  now  deceive  myself  on  the  subject  of  your  re 
gards.  I  am  not  so  self-blinded  as  to  mistake  your  feelings 
for  him." 

"Nor  I  to  deny  them,  Mr.  Barsfield.  There  was  a  time,  sir, 
when  I  should  have  shrunk,  as  from  death,  from  such  an  avowal 
as  this.  It  is  now  my  pride,  my  boast  —  now  that  he  is  desert 
ed  by  friends,  and  in  the  hands  of  enemies — " 

"  In  your  hands,  Miss  Berkeley,"  he  said,  interrupting  her. 

"  How,  sir  ?" 

"  In  no  other  hands  than  yours.  Let  me  show  you  this. 
He  is  not  in  the  hands  of  enemies,  only  as  you  so  decree  it." 

"  Proceed,  sir,  proceed,"  she  said,  impatiently,  seeing  that 
he  paused  in  his  utterance. 

"A  few  words  from  you,  Miss  Berkeley,  and,  such  is  your 
power  over  me,  such  my  regard  for  you,  that,  though  Melli- 
champe  be  my  deadly  enemy  —  one  who  has  sought  my  life, 
and  one  whose  life  my  own  sense  of  self-preservation  prompts 
me  with  like  perseverance  equally  to  seek,  I  am  yet  willing, 
in  the  face  of  my  pledges,  my  interest,  my  duty,  to  connive  at 
his  release  from  this  most  unpleasant  custody.  I  am  willing 
to  place  the  key  of  his  prison-door  in  your  hands,  and  to  give 
the  signal  myself  when  he  shall  fly  in  safety." 

"  You  speak  fairly,  sir,  very  fairly,  very  nobly,  indeed,  if 
you  have  spoken  all  that  you  design,  all  that  you  mean.  But 
is  it  your  regard  for  me  alone  that  prompts  these  sentiments 
—  are  there  no  conditions  which  you  deem  of  value  to  your 
self?  Let  me  hear  all  —  all  that  you  have  in  reserve,  Captain 
Barsfield,  for  you  will  pardon  me  if,  hitherto,  I  have  not  es 
teemed  you  one  to  forfeit  your  pledges,  your  interests,  your 
duty,  to  serve,  without  conditions,  a  poor  maiden  like  myself." 

The  cheek  of  the  tory  grew  to  a  deep  crimson  as  he  spoke, 
and  his  words  were  crowded  and  uttered  chokingly  when  he 
replied: — 

"  I  am  not  now  to  fcarn  for  the  first  time,  that,  influenced 
as  she  has  been  by  the  speech  of  others,  unfriendly  and  ma 
lignant,  the  opinions  of  Miss  Berkeley  have  done  me  at  all 
times  less  than  justice.  The  words  of  old  Max  Mellichampe, 
the  father  of  this  boy,  were  thus  hostile  ever:  and  they  have 


S10  MKLUCIIAMPK. 

not  been  poured  into  unwilling  ears,  Laving  you  for  an  auditor, 
Miss  Berkeley.  And  yet  1  Lad  tliouglit  tLat  one  so  gentle  as 
yourself  would  Lave  shrunk  from  the  language  of  hatred  and 
denunciation,  and  been  tlie  last  so  keenly  to  treasure  up  its 
remembrance.*' 

"  Can  Captain  Barsfield  wonder  that  I  should  remember  the 
opinions  of  Colonel  Mellichampe  with  reference  to  himself, 
when  after-circumstances  Lave  so  completely  confirmed  their 
justice?  Is  not  Captain  Barsfield  an  active  and  bloody  enemy 
to  the  people  of  his  own  land  —  fighting  against  them  under 
the  banner  of  the  invader  —  and  proving  himself  most  bloody 
and  hostile  to  those  with  whom  he  once  dwelt,  and  by  whose 
indulgence,  as  I  have  heard,  his  own  infancy  was  nurtured  ? 
Can  I  forget,  too,  that  by  his  own  hands  the  brave  old  colonel 
perished  in  a  most  unequal  fight?" 

"But  still  a  fair  one,  Miss  Berkeley  —  still  a  fair  fight,  and 
one  of  his  own  seeking.  But  what  you  Lave  just  said,  Miss 
Berkeley,  gives  me  a  good  occasion  to  set  you  right  on  some 
matters,  arid  to  unfold  to  you  the  truth  in  all.  The  taking 
arms  under  tLe  ilag  of  England,  which  you  style  that  of  the 
invader,  and  the  death  of  Colonel  Max  MeVlichampe,  form  but 
a  single  page  of  tLe  same  drama.  They  are  as  closely  related, 
Miss  Berkeley,  as  cause  and  effect,  since  it  was  Max  Melli 
champe  that  made  me  —  why  should  I  blush  to  say  i*  1 — a  tory, 
in  arms  against  my  countrymen  :  and  to  that  enrolment  — 
fatal  enrolment !  for  even  now  I  curse  the  day  on  which  it  was 
recorded,  and  him  no  less  that  moved  it  —  he  owes,  and  justly 
owes,  his  own  defeat  and  death." 

"  I  believe  it  not,  sir.  Colonel  Mellichampe  move  you  to 
become  a  tory  —  to  lift  the  sword  against  your  people  ?  Never 
—  never !" 

"  Hear  me  out,  and  you  will  believe  —  you  can  not  else.  He 
did  not  move  me  —  did  not  argue  with  me  to  become  a  tory, 
oh,  no  !  He  forced  me  to  become  one.  Would  you  hear  ?" 

"  Speak  on." 

"When  this  cruel  and  unnatural  war  commenced  in  South 
Carolina,  I  had  taken  no  part  on  either  side.  Tlie  violence 
of  the  whigs  around  me,  Colonel  Mellichampe  among  them. 


PICTURE    OF    LYNC1I-LAW.  311 

Kud  the  most  active  among  them,  toward  all  those  not  think 
ing  with  themselves,  revolted  my  feelings  and  my  pride,  if  it 
tiid  not  offend  my  principles.  I  was  indignant  that,  while  in 
sisting  upon  all  the  rights  of  free  judgment  for  themselves, 
they  should  at  the  same*  time  deny  a  like  liberty  to  ethers. 
And  yet  they  raved  constantly  of  liberty.  It  was,  in  their 
mouths,  a  perpetual  word,  and  with  them  it  signified  everything 
,-iiid  nothing.  It  was  to  give  them  a  free  charter  for  any  and 
every  practice,  and  it  was  to  deprive  all  others  of  every  right, 
natural  and  acquired.  I  dared  to  disagree  —  I  dared  to  think 
differently,  and  to  speak  my  opinions  aloud,  though  I  lifted  no 
weapon,  as  yet,  to  sustain  them.  Was  I  then  a  criminal,  Miss 
Berkeley  ?  Was  it  toryism  to  think  according  to  my  under 
standing,  and  to  speak  the  opinions  which  I  honestly  enter 
tained  ?  Do  me  justice  and  say,  so  far  I  had  transgressed  no 
law,  either  of  morals  or  of  the  land." 

•'  Do  not  appeal  to  me,  Captain  Barsfield  ;  I  am  but  a  poor 
judge  of  such  matters." 

"  If  you  have  not  judged,  Miss  Berkeley,  you,  at  least,  have 
sentenced  upon  the  authority  of  others  ;  and  it  is  your  sentence, 
and  their  authority,  that  I  seek  now  to  overthrow." 

"  Go  on,  sir ;  I  would  not  do  you  injustice,  and  I  would  re 
joice  to  think  that  you  could  relieve  yourself  from  the  unfa 
vorable  opinions  even  of  one  so  humble  as  myself.  But  I  fear 
me  you  will  fail,  sir." 

"  I  hope  not,  at  least,  Miss  Berkeley  ;  and  the  fear  that  you 
have  uttered  encourages  and  strengthens  my  hope.  I  now 
proceed  with  my  narrative.  I  had,  as  I  have  told  you,  my 
own  opinions,  and  this  was  presumption  in  the  eyes  of  a  dicta 
torial,  proud  man,  like  Max  Mellichampe.  I  uttered  them,  and 
loudly  1  KJ,  and  this  was  the  error  of  one  so  weak,  so  wanting 
in  publ<*  influence  and  wealth  as  myself.  Would  you  hear 
how  tin  *  asonsirous  error  was  punished  ?  this  part  of  the  story, 
perhaps  .«•«%«  never  reached  your  ears." 

"  Pui  **»«a,  sir!"  replied  the  maiden,  with  some  show  of  as- 
tonishm  **  m  ner  countenance,  "what  punishment?  I  had 
not  hea  *  ««  any  punishment." 

"  I  tt    **eni  not,  the  punishment  was  too  light — too  trivial  — 


312  MKLLICHAMPE. 

too  utterly  disproportioned  to  the  offence,  to  make  a  part  ol 
the  narrative.  But  I  was  punished,  Miss  Berkeley,  and,  for  a 
crime  so  monstrous  as  that  of  thinking  differently  from  my 
neighbor,  even  you  will  doubtlessly  conceive  the  penalty  a 
slight  one." 

He  paused;  bitter  emotions  seemed  to  gather  in  his  bosom 
and  he  turned  away  hastily,  and  strode  to  the  opposite  end  of 
the  room.  In  another  moment  he  returned. 

"You  have  heard  of  my  offence  —  you  should  know  how  it 
was  dealt  with  —  riot  by  strangers,  not  by  enemies  —  but  by 
those  with  whom  I  had  lived  —  by  whose  indulgence  I  had 
been  nurtured.  Would  you  hear,  Miss  Berkeley  ?" 

"  Go  on,  sir." 

"Hear  me  then.  My  neighbors  came  to  me  at  midnight  — 
not  as  neighbors,  but  armed,  and  painted,  and  howling  —  at 
midnight.  They  broke  into  my  dwelling — a  small  exercise 
of  their  newly-gotten  liberty  ;  they  tore  me  from  the  bed  where 
I  was  sleeping  ;  they  dragged  me  into  the  highway,  amid  a 
crowd  of  my  brethren  —  my  countrymen  —  all  cheering,  and 
most  of  them  assisting  in  the  work  of  punishment." 

'•  They  surely  did  not  this  V  was  her  exclamation. 

"  They  surely  did  !  but  this  was  not  all.  An  offence  so  hor 
rible  as  mine,  free  thinking  ii»  a  free  country,  was  yet  to  have 
its  punishment.  What  wab  that  punishment,  do  you  think, 
Miss  Berkeley  1" 

His  eyes  glared  upon  her  with  a  ghastly  stare  as  he  put  this 
question,  from  which  her  own  shrank  involuntarily  as  she  i  eplicd, 

"  I  can  not  think  —  I  know  not." 

"  They  bound  me  to  a  tree — fast  —  immovable.  I  could 
only  see  their  proceedings,  I  could  only  endure  their  tortures 
—  I  could  stir  neither  hand  not  foot  to  resist  them — " 

He  shivered,  as  with  a  convulsion,  while  recalling  these 
memories,  though  the  sympathizing  and  pitying  expression  of 
her  face  brought,  a  moment  after,  a  smile  into  his  own.  He 
continued — 

"  There,  bound  hand  and  foot,  a  victim,  at  their  mercy,  and 
hopeless  of  any  plea,  and  incapable  of  any  effort  to  avoid 
their  judgment,  I  bore  its  tortures.  You  will  ask,  what  more  ?" 


PICTUBE    OF    LYNCH-LAW.  313 

He  paused,  but  she  spoke  not,  and  lie  went  on  almost  in 
stantly, 

"  The  lash,  the  scourge,  rods  from  the  neighboring  woods 
were  brought,  and  I  suffered  until  I  fainted  under  their 
blows." 

She  clasped  her  hands,  and  closed  her  eyes,  as  if  the  horri 
ble  spectacle  were  before  her. 

"  I  came  to  life  to  suffer  new  tortures.  They  poured  the 
seething  tar  over  me — " 

"  Horrible  !  horrible  !" 

"  Then,  hurrying  me  to  the  neighboring  river,  your  own 
Santee,  they  plunged  me  into  its  bosom,  and  more  than  once, 
more  merciful  than  the  waters,  which  did  not  ingulf  me,  they 
thrust  me  back  into  their  depths,  when  with  feeble  struggles  I 
had  gained  the  banks.  I  was  saved  by  one,  one  more  tender 
than  the  rest,  and  left  at  midnight,  exhausted,  by  the  river's 
side,  despairing  of  life  and  imploring  death,  which  yet  came 
not  to  my  relief." 

"  Dreadful,  dreadful !"  exclaimed  the  maiden,  with  emotions 
of  uncontrolled  horror,  while  her  ghastly  cheeks  and  streaming 
eyes  attested  the  deep  pain  which  the  cruel  narrative  had  im 
parted  to  her  soul. 

Quivering  in  every  limb  with  the  agonizing  recollection 
which  his  own  horrible  narrative  had  awakened  in  his  mind, 
Barsfield  strode  the  floor  to  and  fro,  his  hands  clinched  in  his 
hair,  and  his  eyes  almost  starting  from  their  sockets. 

In  another  moment  Janet,  recovering  herself,  with  something 
of  desperation  in  her  manner,  hurried  and  breathless,  thus  ad 
dressed  him  — 

"  But  the  father  of  Ernest  Mellichampe,  he  was  not  one  of 
these  men  ?  he  had  no  part  in  this  dreadful  crime  ?  You  have 
not  said  that,  Mr.  Barsfield  ?' 

"  No  !"  was  his  bitter  and  almost  fierce  exclamation. 

"Thank  God!  thank  God!"  she  exclaimed,  breathlessly. 
He  rapidly  crossed  the  floor,  he  approached  her,  and  his  finger 
rested  upon  her  arm  — 

"  Stay  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  be  not  too  fast.  The  father  of 
your — of  Ernest  Mellichampe,  did,  indeed,  lift  no  hand — he 


MELLIOHAMI'E. 


was  not  even  present  on  the  occasion,  but  lie  \vao  hot  the  less 
guilty,  the  deed  was  not  the  less  executed  by  him." 
"How  !  speak  !" 

"  He  was  the  most  guilty.  The  mere  instruments  of  the 
crime  —  the  miserable,  and  howling,  and  servile  wretches,  who 
would  have  maimed  and  mangled  a  creature  formed  in  their 
own,  not  less  than  in  the  image  of  God,  were  not  the  criminals ; 
but  he  who  set  them  on,  he  whose  daily  language  was  that  of 
malignant  scorn  and  hostility,  he  was  its  author,  he  was  the 
doer  of  the  deed,  and  to  him  I  looked  for  vengeance." 

But  how  know  you  that  he  set  them  on  ?     Did  you  hear  ?" 
"  Oh,  Miss  Berkeley,  I  say  not  that  he  told  them,  '  Go,  now, 
and  do  this  deed  ;'    I  know  not  that  he  did  ;  but  had  not  Max 
Mellichampe  pronounced  me  deserving  of  Lynching,  had  he 
not  said   that  I  was  a  tory,  and  that  tar  and  feathers  were  the 
proper  desert  of  the   tory,  had   he  not   approved  of  those  tor 
tures,  and  of  others  which   degrade  humanity,   the  torture  of 
the    rail,    the    suffocation    of    the    horse-pond,   would     these 
wretches,  think  you,  who   take  their  colo/  and  their  thoughts 
always  from  the  superior,  would  they  have  been  prompted,  by 
their  own  thoughts,  to  such  a  crime  ?  No  !  they  were  prompted 
by  him.    He  approved   the  deed,  he  smiled  upon  its  atrocities, 
and  he  perished   in  consequence.     Hence  my  hate  to  him  and 
his,  and  it  is  the  hatred  of  justice  which  pursues  even  to  the 
third  and   fourth  generations;  for  crimes  and  their  penalties, 
like  diseases,  are  entailed   to   son   and  to  son's  son,  all  guilty, 
and  all  doomed,  alike.     Hence  it  is,  that  I  am  a  tory.     Hence 
it  is,  that  I  lift  the  sword,  unsparingly  to  the   last,  against  the 
wretches  who  taught  me  in  that  night  of  terror,  of  blistering 
agony,  of  manhood's  shame,   and    a  suffering  worse  infinitely 
than  death,  of  what  nature  was  that  boon  of  liberty  which 
they  promised,  and  which  it  was  in  the  power  of  such  monsters 
to  bestow.  Can  you  wonder  now,  Miss  Berkeley,  not  that  I  am 
what  I  am,  but  that   I   am  not  worse  ?     You  can  not.     I  were 
either  more  or  less  than  human  to  be  other  than  I  am.     Whe 
ther  these  things  may  excuse  my  conduct,  I  do  not  now  ask  ; 
all  that  I  may  claim   from  you  is,  that  you  will,  at  least,  spara 
your  sarcasms  in  future  upon  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  the 
unnatural  warfare  which  I  wae-o  aarairi«t  my  countrymen." 


UNPROFITABLE    INTERVIEW.  «315 


((  UNIVERSITY  | 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

UNPROFITABLE    INTERVIEW. 

THE  maiden  was  indeed  silenced.  If  she  did  not  sympa 
tliize  entirely  with  Barsfield,  she  at  least  saw  what  a  natural 
course  had  been  his,  under  the  dreadful  indignities  which  he 
had  been  made  to  suffer.  She  now  looked  on  him  with  a  feel 
ing  of  pain  and  mortification  as  he  paced  the  apartment  to  and 
fro;  and  her  eyes  more  than  once  filled  with  tears,  as  she 
thought  how  far  guilty  in  this  transaction  had  been  the  father 
of  her  lover.  At  length  the  tory  captain  turned  to  her  once 
more.  His  countenance  had  recovered  something  of  its  seren 
ity,  though  the  cheek  was  yet  unusually  flushed,  and  when  he 
spoke  there  was  a  convulsive  unevenness  in  his  accent,  Avhich 
denoted  the  yet  unsubdued  emotions  of  his  heart.  Still,  with 
a  moral  power  which  he  certainly  possessed,  however  erringly 
applied,  he  subdued  the  feverish  impulse  ;  and,  after  the  pause 
of  a  few  moments,  which  the  excited  and  wounded  feelings  of 
Janet  did  not  suffer  her  to  interrupt,  he  proceeded  to  a  more 
full  development  of  his  purpose  and  his  desire. 

'•'  I  have  said  to  you,  Miss  Berkeley,  that  I  am  commanded, 
so  soon  as  the  condition  of  my  prisoner  will  permit,  to  convey 
him  to  the  city.  Are  you  aware  with  what  purpose?  have  you 
any  notion  of  his  probable  destiny  ?'* 

The  manner  of  the  question  alarmed  the  maiden  much  more 
than  the  question  itself.  It  was  grave  and  mysteriously  em 
phatic.  His  face  wore  all  the  expression  of  one  conscious  of 
the  possession  of  a  secret,  the  utterance  of  which  is  to  produce 
the  most  trying  emotions  in  the  hearer,  and  which  the  posses 
sor,  at  the  same  time,  however,  does  not  yet  dare  to  with 
hold.  Janet  was  silent  for  a  few  seconds  while  gazing  intv 
the  countenance  of  the  speaker,  as  if  seeking  to  gather  from 


316  MKLLICIIAMPE. 

his  glance  what  she  yet  trembled  to  demand  from  his  lips 
but  remembering  the  solemn  decision  of  her  thoughts  when 
she  granted  the  interview,  to  seek  to  know  the  worst  that  her 
enemy  could  inflict,  she  recovered  and  controlled  her  energies. 
With  a  firm  voice,  therefore,  unfaltering  in  a  single  accent,  she 
requested  him  to  proceed. 

"I  am  not  strong  —  not  wise,  Captain  Barsfield,  and  I  am 
not  able  to  say  what  my  thoughts  are  now,  or  what  my  feelings 
may  be  when  I  hear  what  you  have  to  rmfi.ld,  But  God,  I 
trust,  will  give  me  strength  to  endure  well,  if  I  may  not  achieve 
much.  Your  looks  and  manner,  more  than  your  words,  would 
seem  to  imply  something  which  is  dangerous  to  me  and  mine. 
Speak  it  out  boldly,  Captain  Barsfield  —  better  to  hear  the 
worst  than  to  imagine  error,  and  find  worse  in  wrong  imagi 
nings.  I  am  willing  to  hear  all  that  you  would  say,  and  I  beg 
that  you  would  say  it  freely,  without  hesitation." 

"I  am  glad  that  you  are  thus  strong  —  thus  prepared,  Miss 
Berkeley;  for  it  pains  me  to  think  how  deeply  must  be  your 
sorrow  and  suffering  when  you  learn  the  truth." 

He  paused,  and  with  a  hypocritical  expression  of  sympa 
thetic  wo  in  his  countenance,  approached  her  when  he  had 
done  speaking.  His  hand  was  even  extended  with  a  con 
doling  manner,  as  if  to  possess  itself  of  hers;  but  she  drew 
herself  up  reservedly  in  her  chair,  and  he  halted  before  her. 
Her  words  promptly  followed  the  action  — 

"I  am  neither  strong  to  endure  much,  nor  prepared  to  hear 
any  particular  cause  of  sorrow,  as  I  can  think  of  none  in  par 
ticular.  Speak  it,  however,  Captain  Barsfield,  since,  whether 
strong  or  prepared,  I  am  at  least  desirous  to  know  all  which 
may  concern  my  feelings  in  the  matter  which  you  have  tc 
communicate." 

"  You  will  think  me  precipitate  in  my  communication  when 
you  have  heard  it;  and  that  you  have  not  thought  of  it  hith 
erto,  leads  me  to  apprehend  that  you  will  even  feel  it  more 
forcibly  than  I  had  imagined.  I  deem  it  doubly  important, 
then,  to  bid  you  prepare  for  a  serious  evil." 

These  preparatory  suggestions,  as  they  were  designed  to  do, 
necessarily  stimulated  still  further  the  anxieties  and  appre- 


UNI'KOFtTA BLE    INTERVIEW. 


31 


licnsions  of  the  hearer,  tliougli  she  strove  nobly,  and  well  suc 
ceeded,  in  mastering  her  emotions. 

"Speak  — speak  —  I  pray  you,  sir,"  she  cried,  almost  breath- 

Idss. 

"Do  you  know,  then,  Miss  Berkeley,  with  what  object  I  am 
required  to  convey  Mr.  Mellicharnpe  to  the  city  ?" 

"No,  sir  —  object  — what  object  —  none  in  particular.  lie 
is  your  prisoner  —  you  convey  him  to  prison/'  was  the  hurried 

reply. 

"I  J0  —  I  carry  him  to  prison,  indeed  —  but  I   also  carry 

him  to  trial." 

"To  trial!" 

"  To  trial  as  a  spy." 

"  A  spy  ! — and  what  then  ?" 

"  He  will  be  convicted." 

"Impossible!  he  is  no  spy  —  who  will  dare  to  utter  such  a 
falsehood  ?" 

"I  will  dare  to  utter  such  a  truth.  I  will  accuse  —  I  have 
accused  him.  I  will  prove  my  accusation;  and  you,  Mis? 
Berkeley,  can  assist  me  in  establishing  the  proof.  I  could  rest 
the  entire  proof  upon  your  testimony." 

"Never  —  never!  God  help  me,  what  audacity  is  this  !  I 
scorn  your  assertion  —  I  despise  —  I  fear  nothing  of  your 
threats.  I  know  better,  and  am  not  to  be  terrified  by  a  tale 
so  idle  as  this." 

"It  is  no  idle  tale,  Miss  Berkeley,  and  you  are  terrified,  a* 
you  must  feel  conscious  of  its  truth.  You  know  it  to  be  true." 

"  I  knoAv  it  to  bo  false  ! — false  as  —  Heaven  forgive  me,  but 
this  insolence  also  makes  me  mad.  But  I  have  done  now,  and 
you  too,  sir,  have  done,  I  trust.  I  am  not  to  be  frightened  by 
such  stories  as  these;  for,  know,  sir,  that  when  this  strange 
tale  was  uttered  by  you  before,  I  had  the  assurance  of  Colonel 
Tarleton  —  your  superior,  sir  —  that  there  was  nothing  in  it, 
and  that  I  must  not  suffer  myself  to  be  alarmed.  Colonel 
Tarleton's  words,  sir,  I  remembered — he  would  not  give  them 
idly,  and  I  believe  in  him.  He  will  be  there  to  see  justice 
done  to  Mellichampe,  and  with  his  pledge,  sir,  I  defy  your 
malice.  I,  too,  will  go  to  the  city  —  though  I  tread  every  step 


318  MKLLICIIAMI'K. 

of  the  way  on  foot  —  I  will  see  Colonel  Tarletoii,  and  lie  will 
protect  the  man  whom  you  hate  —  but  whom  you  dare  not 
fairly  encounter  —  from  your  dishonorable  malice." 

"  That  I  dare  meet  him,  Miss  Berkeley,  his  present  situation 
attests  —  it  was  by  my  arm  that  he  was  stricken  down  in  fair 
conflict—" 

"I  believe  it  not  —  you  dared  not.  Your  myrmidons  beset 
him,  while  you  looked  on.  It  was  many  to  one :  but  of  this  1 
think  not.  It  is  enough  tha4.  I  am  required  to  speak  with  one, 
and  to  look  upon  one,  who  has  sought  to  destroy  him,  and  me 
in  him.  It  is  enough  —  I  would  hear  no  more.  I  believe  not  in 
this  trial  —  Colonel  Tarleton  will  not  suffer  it,  and  I  will  go  to 
him.  He  will  see  justice." 

"He  will,"  said  Barsfield,  coolly,  in  reply  to  the  passionate 
and  unlooked-for  vehemence  of  the  maiden  —  so  unlike  her 
usual  calm  gravity  of  deportment. 

"Colonel  Tarleton  will  do  justice,  Miss  Berkeley — it  is  my 
hope  that  lie  will  do  so.  I  have  his  words  for  it,  indeed,  and 
it.  is  from  him  the  orders  come  which  call  for  the  trial  of  the 
prisoner." 

"The  orders — Colonel  Tarleton!"  were  the  simple  excla 
mations  of  the  maiden,  as  she  listened  to  the  assertion.  Bars- 
field  calmly  drew  the  paper  from  his  pocket,  and  placed  it  in 
her  hands.  As  she  read,  the  letters  swam  before  her  eyes: 
and,  when  she  had  finished,  the  document  fell  from  her  nerve 
less  fingers,  and  she  stood  like  a  dumb  imbodiment  of  wo, 
gazing  with  utter  vacancy  upon  her  companion.  They  were 
the  orders,  plainly  and  unequivocally  written  by  Tarleton,  as 
Barsfield  had  said.  Not  a  word  wanting  —  not  a  sentence 
doubtful  in  its  import.  Tarleton,  who  had  promised  her  that 
her  lover  was  secure,  or  had  led  her,  by  his  language  and 
general  manner,  to  believe  so,  had  commanded  his  trial.  Re- 
jailing  all  her  energies,  with  eyes  that  never  once  were 
removed  from  the  countenance  of  Barsfield,  she  again  took  the 
paper  from  his  hands,  as  he  was  lifting  ii  fr  >n>  the  floor,  and 
once  more  read  it  carefully  over  —  counting  the  word;:  — almosr 
epeMing  them  —  in  the  hope  to  find  some  little  evasion  of  the 
first  meaning  —  some  loop-hole  for  escape  —  some  solitary 


UNPROFITABLE    INTERVIEW  319 

bough  upon  which  a  fond  hope  might  perch  and  reot  itself, 
But  in  vain.     The  letter  was  a  stern  and  business-like  one. 

"You  muat  convey  the  prisoner,  Mellicliampe,"  so  ran  that 
portion  of  it  which  concerned  tli3  maiden,  "so  soon  as  his 
wounds  will  permit,  under*  a  strong  guard,  to  the  city,  where  a 
court  of  officers  will  be  designated  for  his  trial  as  a  spy  upon 
your  encampment.  You  will  spare  no  effort  to  secure  all  the 
evidence  necessary  to  his  conviction,  and  will  yourself  attend 
to  the  preferment  of  the  charges."  And  there,  after  the  details 
of  other  matters  and  duties  to  be  attended  to  and  executed, 
was  the  signature  of  the  bloody  dragoon,  which  she  more  than 

once  had  seen  before  — 

"  B.  TARLETON, 

"  Lt.   Col.  Legion.'" 

She  closed  her  eyes,  gave  back  the  paper,  and  clasped  her 
hands  in  prayer  to  Heaven,  as  the  last  reliance  of  earth  seemed 
to  be  taken  away.  She  had  so  confidently  rested  upon  the 
personal  assurances  of  Tarlcton,  that  she  had  almost  dismissed 
entirely  from  her  thought  the  charge  in  question;  and  which 
Barsfield  had  originally  made  when  the  legionary  colonel  was 
at  "  Piney  Grove."  Now,  when  she  read  these  orders,  she 
wondered  at  herself  for  so  implicitly  confiding  in  the  assu 
rances  of  one  so  habitually  distrusted  by  the  Americans,  and 
so  notoriously  fond  of  bloodshed.  Yet,  why  had  he  deemed  it 
necessary  to  give  these  assurances  to  a  poor  maiden  —  one 
not  a  party  to  the  war,  and  to  whom  he  could  have  no  cause 
of  hostility.  Why  practise  thus  upon  an  innocent  heart  and 
a  young  affection  1  Could  he  be  so  wanton  —  so  merciless  — 
so  fond  of  all  forms  of  cruelty  ?  These  thoughts,  these  doubts, 
all  filled  the  brain  of  the  maiden,  confusedly  and  actively, 
during  the  brief  moments  in  which  she  stood  silently  in  the 
presence  of  Barsfield,  after  having  possessed  herself  of  the 
orders  with  regard  to  Mellichampe.  Her  fears  had  almost 
stupefied  her,  and  it  was  only  the  voice  of  the  tory  which 
seemed  to  arouse  her  to  a  full  consciousness,  not  less  of  the 
predicament  in  which  her  lover  stood,  than  of  the  presence  ol 
his  enemy.  She  raised  her  eyes,  and,  without  a  word,  listened 
anew  to  the  suggestions  of  Barsfield,  who  —  speaking,  as  he 


320  MKLLTCttAMPR. 

did,  ungrateful  and  unpleasant  tilings  —  had  assumed  his  most 
pleasant  tones,  and  put  on  a  deportment  the  most  courteous 
and  respectful. 

"You  doubt  not  now,  Miss  Berkeley?  —  the  facts  are  un 
questionable.  These  are  direct  and  positive  orders,  and  must 
be  obeyed.  In  a  few  days  Mr.  Mellichainpe  must  be  conveyed 
to  the  city  ;  his  trial  must  immediately  follow,  and  I  need  not 
say  how  immediately  thereupon  must  follow  his  conviction 
and—" 

"  Say  no  more  —  say  no  more,"  shrieked,  rather  than  spoke, 
his  auditor. 

"  And  yet,  Miss  Berkeley — " 

"Yet  what?"  she  demanded,  hurriedly. 

"  These  dangers  may  be  averted.  The  youth  may  be 
saved." 

She  looked  up  doubtingly,  and,  as  she  saw  the  expression  in 
his  eyes,  she  shook  her  head  in  despair.  She  read  at  a 
glance  the  conditions. 

"  I  see  you  understand  me,  Miss  Berkeley." 

"  I  can  not  deny  that  I  think  I  do,  sir,"  was  her  prompt 
reply. 

"And  yet,  as  you  may  not,  better  that  I  speak  my  thoughts 
plainly.  I  can  save  Mr.  Mellichampe  —  I  am  ready  to  do  so; 
for,  though  my  enemy,  I  feel  that  I  love  another  far  more 
than  I  can  possibly  hate  him.  I  will  save  him  for  that  other. 
Does  Miss  Berkeley  hear?  will  she  heed  ?" 

Barsfield  might  well  ask  these  questions,  for  the  thoughts  of 
Janet  were  evidently  elsewhere.  His  finger  rested  upon  her 
hand,  and  she  started  as  from  a  sudden  danger.  There  was  a 
bitter  smile  upon  the  lips  of  the  tory,  as  he  noticed  the  shud 
dering  emotion  with  which  she  withdrew  her  hand.  Her 
attention,  however,  seeming  now  secured,  he  continued  his 
suggestions. 

"I  will  save  the  life  of  the  prisoner  —  he  shall  be  free  as 
air,  Miss  Berkeley,  if,  in  return,  you  will — " 

"  Oh,  Captain  Barsfield,  this  is  all  very  idle,  and  not  less 
painful  than  idle.  You  know  it  can  not  be.  You  know  me 
not  if  yon  can  think  it  for  a  moment  longer.  It  is  impossible. 


UNPROFITABLK    INTERVIEW.  321 

sir,  that  I  can  survive  Mellicliampo;  still  more  impossible  that 
I  can  survive  his  love,  or  give  my  own  to  another.  Leave  me 
now,  sir,  I  pray  you.  Leave  me  now.  We  can  speak  no 
more  together.  You  can  have  nothing  further  to  say,  as  you 
can  have  nothing  worse  to'communicate." 

"But,  Miss  Berkeley — " 

He  would  have  spoken,  but  she  waved  her  hand  impatiently. 
He  saw  at  a  glance  how  idle  would  be  all  further  effort,  and 
the  murderous  nature  within- him  grew  active  with  this  convic 
tion.  His  hate  to  Mellichampe  was  now  shared  equally  be 
tween  him  and  his  betrothed.  The  parting  look  which  ho 
gave  her,  as  he  left  the  apartment,  did  not  encounter  any  con 
sciousness  in  hers,  or  she  might  have  dreaded,  in  the  next 
instant,  to  feel  the  venomous  fang  of  the  serpent.  Her  strength 
failed  her  after  his  departure.  Restrained  till  then,  her  emo 
tions  grew  insupportable  the  moment  she  was  left  alone ;  and 
when  Rose  Duncan,  apprised  of  Barsfield's  absence,  sought 
her  in  the  room  where  the  conference  had  taken  place,  she 
found  her  stretched  upon  the  floor,  only  not  enough  insensible 
to  escape  from  the  mental  agony  which  the  new  situation  of 
things  had  forced  upon  her. 

u* 


322  MKLIJOIiAMPE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

TROUBLES     OP     THE     LOVERS. 

*  Is  he  gone  ?"  were  the  first,  shudderingly-expressed  words, 
which  the  suffering  maiden  addressed  to  Rose  Duncan  as  the 
latter  assisted  her  in  rising  from  the  floor.  Her  eyes  were 
red  and  swollen ;  her  glance  wild,  wandering,  and  strangely 
full  of  light;  her  lips  compressed  with  a  visible  effort,  as  if  to 
restrain  the  expression  of  those  emotions  which  were  still  so 
powerfully  felt  and  shown.  Instead  of  replying  to  the  ques 
tion  of  Janet,  Rose  could  not  forbear  an  exclamation  of  partial 
rebuke. 

"  I  warned  you — I  told  you  not  to  see  him,  Janet.  You 
are  now  sorry  for  it." 

"No  —  no  !  I  must  have  known  it,  and  better  as  it  is — bet 
ter,  better  as  it  is  —  to  know  it  all ;  there  is  no  second  stroke  — 
no  other  that  can  now  be  felt,  except — God  of  heaven  !  have 
mercy,  and  save  me  from  that !" 

She  buried  her  face  in  the  bosom  of  Rose,  and  sobbed  with 
convulsive  sorrows,  as  her  imagination  presented  to  her  eye 
the  probable  result  of  the  trial  to  which  her  lover  was  to  be 
subjected. 

"He  never  spares,  Rose — he  has  no  mercies!  From  the 
place  of  trial  to  the  place  of  death,  it  is  but  a  step !  So  the 
malignant  Barsfield  said  it,  and  so  it  will  be  with  such  judges 
as  Balfour  and  Tarleton."  And,  as  she  spoke,  she  closed  her 
eyes,  as  if  to  shut  out  the  dreadful  images  of  doom  and  death 
which  were  gathering  thickly  before  her.  It  was  only  in 
fitful  starts  of  speech  that  Rose  could  gather  from  her  com 
panion  the  truth  of  her  situation  and  the  cause  of  her  grief 
It  was  only  by  successive  pictures  of  the  dreadful  eventa 


TROUBLES  OF  THE  LOVKR8.  323 

which  she  anticipated,  as  they  severally  came  to  her  mind, 
and  not  by  any  effort  at  narration,  that  she  was  enabled  to 
convey  to  that  of  Rose  the  cruel  nature  of  the  intelligence 
which  Barsfield  had  conveyed  in  his  interview.  The  anger  of 
Rose  grew  violent  when  she  heard  it,  and  that  of  Janet  imme 
diately  subsided.  She  could  the  better  perceive  the  futility 
of  uttered  grief,  when  she  perceived  the  inadequacy  of  all 
words  to  describe  her  emotions.  Grief,  like  Rapture,  was 
corn  dumb. 

But  if  Janet  suffered  thus  much  at  first  hearing  of  this  sad 
intelligence,  she  did  not  suffer  less  when  communicating  it  that 
evening  to  her  lover.  Could  she  have  suffered  for  him  —  could 
she  have  felt  all  the  agony  of  her  present  thoughts,  assured 
that  it  lay  with  her  alone  to  endure  all  and  let  him  go  free, 
she  would  not  have  murmured  —  she  would  have  had  no  uttered 
grief.  But  the  dreadful  task  was  before  her  of  saying  to  her 
lover  that  the  hour  of  their  parting  and  probably  their  final 
parting,  was  at  hand.  How  much  less  painful  to  have  heard 
it  from  his  lips  to  her,  than  to  breathe  it  from  her  lips  into  his 
ears.  She  could  endure  the  stroke  coming  from  him,  but  she 
thought  —  and  this  was  the  thought  of  one  who  love  unselfishly 
—  that  she  shared  in  the  cruelty  —  that  she  became  a  party  to 
the  crime,  and  its  immediate  instrument,  in  unfolding  the 
dreadful  intelligence  to  him.  "He  will  hate  me  —  he  will 
regard  it  as  my  deed  —  and  oh  !  how  can  I  look  as  I  tell  him 
this  —  how  can  features  express  such  feelings  —  such  a  sorrow 
as  is  mine !" 

Such  were  the  sobbing  and  broken  words  with  which  she 
Bought  her  lover.  She  strove,  however,  to  compose  her  coun 
tenance.  She  even  labored  —  foolish  endeavor!  to  restrain  — 
to  subdue  her  emotions.  But  when  was  the  heart  of  woman  — 
properly  constituted  only  for  intense  feeling,  and  entire  de 
pendence  that  admits  of  no  qualified  love  —  to  be  restrained 
and  subjected  by  a  merely  human  will.  There  was  that  at 
her  heart  which  v;ould  not  be  compelled.  The  feeling  only 
gathered  itself  up  for  a  moment  the  better  to  expand.  The 
restraint  gave  it  new  powers  of  action,  and,  though  she  appeared 
ill  the  presence  of  Mellichampe  with  a  countenance  in  which  a 


324  MELLICHAMPE. 

smile  even  strove  for  place  and  existence,  it  was  yet  evident 
to  herself  that  the  power  of  self-control  was  rapidly  departing 
from  her.  The  strife  of  encountering  feelings  was  going  on 
within  —  the  earthquake  toiling  below,  though  sunshine  and 
flowers  only  were  visible  without. 

It  was  with  a  joy  so  intense  as  to  be  tremulous,  th.at  Melli- 
cliampe  received  her.  His  confinement  had  made  him  still 
more  a  dependent  upon  her  presence  and  affections.  His  love 
for  her  had  duly  increased  with  its  daily  exercise;  and,  in  the 
absence  of  other  and  exciting  influences,  it  had  become  a 
regular,  constant,  and  increasing  flame,  which  concentrated 
almost  all  his  thoughts,  and  certainly  governed  and  linked 
itself  with  all  his  emotions.  He  longed  for  her  coming  as  the 
anticipative  boy  longs  for  the  hour  of  promised  enjoyment  — 
with  a  feverish  thirst  no  less  intense,  and  an  anxious  earnest 
ness  far  more  lofty  and  enduring.  When  the  latch  was  lifted 
he  ran  forward  to  receive  her,  caught  her  extended  hand  h- 
both  of  his  own,  and  carried  it  warmly  and  passionately  to  his 
lips.  She  could  scarce  effect  her  release,  and  the  blush  min 
gled  with  the  laboring  smile  upon  her  lips,  which  it  rather 
tended  to  strengthen  than  displace. 

"Oh,  Janet  —  my  own  Janet  —  what  an  age  of  absence! 
How  long  you  were  in  coming  this  evening! — what  has  kept 
you,  and  wherefore  ?  Truly,  I  began  to  fear  that  you  were 
tired  of  your  office." 

"No  —  no,  Ernest  —  I  can  not  tire,  since  it  is  so  sweet  to 
serve.  If  I  sought  for  mere  pleasure  and  amusement  in  love, 
I  might  tire  of  its  sameness;  but  the  love  of  my  heart  is  its 
devotion,  and  the  better  feelings  of  our  nature,  like  the  God 
from  whom  they  come,  are  the  more  dear  to  us,  and  the  more 
lovely  in  his  sight,  as  they  are  never  subject  to  change." 

"  Beautiful  sentiment !"  was  the  involuntary  exclamation  of 
the  youth,  as  he  looked  in  her  face  and  saw,  through  the 
gathering  tears  in  her  eyes,  the  high-sonled  seriousness  —  the 
sanctified  earnestness  of  heart,  which  proved  that  she  felt  the 
truth  of  the  thought  which  she  had  uttered.  Love  was,  indeed, 
the  religion  of  Janet  Berkeley.  It  was  in  her  to  love  all 
things  in  nature,  and  to  gather  sweets  from  all  its  infiucnces 


TROUBLES  OF  THE  LOVERS.  '  325 

Even  the  subduing  grief  to  which  she  was  more  than  commonly 
subject,  brought  into  increased  activity  the  love  which  she  felt 
for  him  who  stood  before  her,  yet  awakened  no  opposite  feeling 
in  her  bosom  against  those  who  sought  to  do  him  wrong. 

"Beautiful  sentiment!''  he  exclaimed,  passionately,  "and 
worthy  of  your  heart,  my  Janet.  Love  is  its  constant  occupa 
tion,  and  I  believe,  dearest,  th.it  you  could  not  help  but  love 
on,  even  if  I  were  to  forget  your  devotedness  and  my  own 
pledge  to  you.  Would  you  not,  Janet?" 

"I  know  not  that,  Ernest.  I  have  never  thought  of  that, 
but  I  think  I  could  die  then  ;"  and  the  last  words  were  uttered 
in  his  folding  arms,  and  came  to  his  ears  like  the  sweet  mur 
mur  of  angel  voices  in  a  dream. 

"  Heaven  forbid,  my  Janet,  that  I  should  ever  do  you  wrong, 
however  slight?  It  would  pain  me  to  think  that  you  could 
imagine  the  possibility  of  a  wrong  at  my  hands,  and  through 
my  agency.  True  love,  dearest,  is  a  thing  of  entire  confidence, 
and  nothing  seems  to  me  so  sweet  as  the  knowledge  that  you 
have  no  emotion,  no  feeling  or  thought,  which  you  do  not  give 
up  to  iny  keeping.  It  may  be,  indeed,  that  the  thoughts  and 
feelings  of  women  have  little  comparative  value,  so  far  as  the 
interests  of  men  and  of  nations  are  concerned  ;  but,  valueless 
or  not,  they  are  thoughts  and  feelings  with  her  —  her  all  —  her 
only — and,  as  such,  they  should  be  of  permanent  value  with 
him' who  loves  her.  How  much  that  was  unimportant — nay, 
how  much  that  was  positive  nonsense  —  did  we  say  to  each 
other  last  evening  —  and  yet,  Janet,  to  me  it  was  the  sweetest 
nonsense." 

And,  smiling  and  folding  her  in  his  arms  with  the  respectful 

r  fondness  of  a  natural  affection,  he  poured  forth  as  garrulous  a 

tale  in  her  ears  as  if  he  had  not  long  and  frequently  before 

narrated  to  her  his  own  experience  of  heart,  and   demanded 

hers  in  return.     But  she  could  not  now  respond  to  his  garrulity. 

"It  was  not  that  she  felt  not  with  him  —  not  that  the  heart  had 

suffered  change,  and  the  love  had  grown  inconstant,  though, 

beholding  her  abstraction,  with  this  he  had  reproached  her; 

but,  reminded  as  she  was  of  the  joys  which  they  had  promised 

themselves  together  in  their  frequent  and  sweet  interviews,  she 


326  MKLLICIIAMI'K. 

was  now  only  the  more  forcibly  taught  to  feel  the  violent 
wrenching  away  from  hope  which  the  cunning  of  Barsfield, 
and  the  bloody  tyranny  of  Balfour  and  Tarleton,  were  pre 
paring  for  them  both.  She  could  only  throw  herself  upon  his 
manly  bosom,  like  some  heart-stricken  and  desponding  depend 
ant,  and  sob,  as  if,  with  every  convulsion,  life  would  render  up 
its  sacred  responsibility. 

It  is  needless  to  say  how  alarmed  —  how  slacked  was  Melli- 
champe,  as  he  witnessed  emotions  so  suddenly  and  strangely 
violent.  Since  he  had  been  a  prisoner  and  wounded,  with 
Janet  attending  upon  him,  life  had  been  to  them  both  all 
couleur  de  rose.  Insensibly  they  had  both  forgotten  the  re 
straints  and  difficulties,  if  not  the  dangers,  of  his  situation. 
They  had  lived  only  for  love ;  they  had  forgotten  all  priva 
tions  in  its  enjoyments ;  and,  as  the  circumstances  attending 
Mellichampe  had  made  all  farther  concealment  unnecessary 
of  the  tie  which  bound  them  so  sweetly  and  inseparably  to 
gether,  their  mutual  hearts  revelled  in  the  freedom  which  their 
release  from  all  the  old  restraints  necessarily  brought  to  them. 
Next  to  the  joy  of  contemplating  the  beloved  object,  is  the 
pride  with  which  we  can  challenge  it  for  our  own  ;  and  that 
feeling  of  pride,  of  itself,  grew  into  a  sentiment  of  pleasure  in 
the  hourly  and  free  survey  of  the  object  in  the  eye  of  others; 
as  the  devotee  of  a  new  faith,  who  has  long  worshipped  in 
secret,  avails  himself  of  the  first  moment  of  emancipation  to 
build  a  proud  temple  to  the  God  of  his  hidden  idolatry.  Thus 
moved  toward  each  other,  and  free,  as  it  were,  to  love  securely 
for  the  first  time,  the  two,  so  blessed,  had  forgotten  all  other 
considerations.  His  wound  ceased  to  be  a  pain,  and  almost  a 
care,  since  it  was  so  entirely  the  care  of  the  maiden ;  and  her 
tendance  made  the  moments  precious  of  his  confinement,  and 
lie  blessed  the  evils  which  placed  him  in  a  relationship  the 
most  desirable,  and  far  the  most  delightful,  of  any  he  had  ever 
known. 

To  the  maiden,  the  very  assumption  of  some  of  the  cares  of 
life,  in  attending  upon  the  object  most  beloved,  was  eminently 
grateful,  as  it  was  the  first  step  which  she  had  yet  taken 
toward  the  performance  of  some  of  those  duties  for  which 


TKOUBI..KS  OF  THE  LOVERS.  327 

woman  is  peculiarly  formed,  and  for  wliicli  her  gentle  regards 
and    affectionate  tendernesses  make   her   particularly  fitted. 
They  occupied  her  mind  while  they  interested  her  heart  the 
more ;  and  so  completely  did  they  absorh  thoughts  and  affec 
tions  in  the  brief  period  of  his  confinement  and  sickness,  that 
she  no  longer  heeded  the  hourly   din   of  the  military  music 
around  her ;  and  the  shrill  note  of  the  bugle,  which  heretofore 
sent  a  thrill  of  dreadful  apprehension  to  her  soul  whenever  its 
warlike  summons  smote  upon  her  ear,  now  failed  entirely  to 
remind  her  of  those  causas  of  apprehension  to  which  she  had 
been  before  always  most  sensitively  alive.     From  this  dream 
of  pleasure,  in  which  every  thought  and  feeling  which  might 
have  counselled  pain  or  doubt  had  been  merged  and  lost  sight 
of,  she  had  been  too  suddenly  aroused  by  the  cruel  communi 
cation   of  Barsfield.     The  long  train   of  pleasant  sensations, 
hopes,  and  joys,  departed  in  that  instant;  and  in  their  place 
rose  up  all  the  accustomed  forms  of  fierce  war  and  brutal  out 
rage,  with  the  additional  horrors  of  that  peculiar  danger  to 
which  the  circumstances  connected   with  her  lover's  captivity 
and  situation  had  subjected  him.     As  these  successive  images 
of  terror  rose  up  before  her  imagination  and  crowded  upon  her 
mind,  the  strong  resolution  with  which  she  had  determined 
upon  their  mastery  quite  gave  way,  and  she  fell  upon  the  neck 
of  her  lover,  yielding  to  all  the  weakness  of  her  heart,  and 
refusing  any  longer  to  contend  with  her  griefs. 
*    Nor  couhl  he  for  some  time  obtain  from  her  a  knowledge  of 
her  cause   of  sorrow.     She  could    only  sob,  not   speak.     Once 
or  twice  she  strove  earnestly  to  articulate,  hut  the  words  choked 
her  in  their  utterance,  and   they  terminated  in  convulsive  but 
unsyllabled  sounds.     He  bore  her  to  a   seat,  and   knelt  down 
beside  her,  supporting  her  head  upon  his  shoulder.     Earnestly 
and  fondly  did  he  seek  to  sooth  the  paroxysm  under  which  she 
suffered,  and  vainly,  for  a  long  while,  did  he  implore  her  to  be 
calm  and    speak    forth    her  griefs.     When  at  length    she  so 
far  recovered  herself  as  to  raise  her  head  from  his  shoulder 
and  fix  her    eye    upon    his    face,  the    glance  was    instantly 
averted,  as  if  with    horror,  and    the  tears  burst  forth  afresh. 
With   that   glance   came  the  thought  of  the  hour  when  that 


328  MELLICHAMPE. 

noble  Lead  should  be  in  the  grasp  of  the  executioner  —  thai 
manly,  high,  pure  white  brow  obscured  by  his  cowling  blind  — 
and  th.it  polished  and  lifted  neck  grasped  by  the  polluting 
halter.  ? 

These  were  the  dreadful  thoughts  which  came  crowding  to 
her  mind  on  that  instant;  and  they  might  have  been  the 
thoughts  and  the  apprehensions,  at  that  period,  of  a  far 
more  masculine  mind  than  that  of  Janet  Berkeley  ;  for,  what 
was  so  common  then  as  the  certainty  of  execution  to  the  ac 
cused  American  ?  what  so  sure  as  the  execution  of  death  to 
one  doomed  by  Balfour,  Tarleton,  or  Cornwallis  ?  In  these 
hands  lay  the  destiny  of  her  lover.  A  few  days  would  convey 
him  to  the  place  of  trial.  A  few  hours  travel  through  all  its 
abridged  forms,  and  the  hurried  process  of  examination,  mis 
representing  justice  ;  and  how  brief  was  the  sad  interval  al 
lowed  for  the  final  preparation  between  the  doom  and  its  exe 
cution.  These  thoughts,  which,  to  the  strong  and  fearless  man, 
would  have  been  only  so  many  stirring  apprehensions,  were  a 
full  conviction  in  the  gentle  heart  of  the  timid  and  fond  Janet. 
She  feared  *he  worst,  and,  being  of  no  sanguine  temper  she 
saw  no  hope  upon  which  to  lean  for  succor.  Nothing  but 
clouds  and  storms  rose  before  her  sight,  and  her  love,  undevia- 
ting  and  growing  warmer  to  the  last,  was  the  only  star  that 
rayed  out  in  blessing  through  the  thickness  and  the  gloom. 

"  Oh,  what,  dearest  Janet,  is  this  suffering  that  wrings  you 
thus?  What  dream  of  danger,  what  wild  apprehension,  trou 
bles  you  ?  Speak  to  me,  say  what  you  know.  Let  me  relieve 
your  sorrows,  or,  at  least,  share  them  with  you." 

It  was  thus  that  the  youth  pleaded,  it  was  thus  that  he  fondly 
implored  her  to  pour  the  griefs  of  her  bosom  into  his,  and  make 
him  a  partaker  of  those  evils  which  she  evidently  was  not 
strong  enough  to  bear  alone.  She  replied  by  sobs,  and  it  was 
only  at  remote  intervals  that,  coupling  together  the  broken 
parts  of  her  speech,  he  was  enabled  to  gather  from  her  that  he 
was  about  to  be  carried  to  Charleston  as  a  prisoner.  Hearing 
thus  much,  the  first  thought  of  Mellichampe  was  one  gratify 
ing  to  his  vanity,  and  grateful  in  the  extreme  to  his  own  warm 
affection.  He  clasped  1  er  fervently  to  his  heart  as  he  replied. 


f ROUBLES   OF    THE    LOYER3. 

"  And  you  grieve  tlms  at  our  parting,  at  the  prospect  of  our 
separation.  Ah,  dearest,  sweet  is  this  additional  evidence  of 
your  sole-hearted  love.  But  it  will  not  be  long,  I  will  soon  re 
turn,  I  only  go  to  be  exchanged." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  no  !  —  never — never  !  You  will  return  no  more. 
ft  is  false,  Ernest  —  false!  No  exchange  —  no  exchange! 
They  carry  you  to  Balfour  and  to  Tarleton,  to  be  tried  —  to 
die  !  to  die  !" 

Incoherently  then,  but  with  the  utmost  rapidity,  she  ex 
plained  to  him  the  circumstances  which  Barsfield  had  narrated 
to  her.  His  astonishment  far  exceeded  her  own  apprehen 
sions,  and,  after  the  first  feeling  of  indignant  surprise  was 
over,  he  calmly  and  confidently  enough  sought  to  reassure 
her  mind  on  the  subject. 

"  Fear  nothing,  my  Janet.  They  dare  do  nothing  of  what 
you  fear;  and  this  charge  against  me,  of  being  a  spy  upon 
their  camp,  is  too  ridiculous  to  need  any  refutation,  and  should 
occasion  no  concern." 

The  composure  of  her  lover  failed  to  satisfy  her. 
"  Alas  !  Ernest,  no  charge  is  too  ridiculous  with  them.     How 
many  have  suffered  from  charges  equally  idle  in  the  minds  of 
honest  men  !" 

This  was  a  truth  well  known  to  MelHcharnpe,  and  fully  ap 
strong  in  his  mind  as  a  cause  of  apprehension  as  it  was  in 
the  mind  of  the  maiden  ;  but,  with  that  pride  of  character 
and  soldierly  resolve  which  were  becoming  in  the  man,  lie 
did  not  allow  his  own  fears  to  strengthen  hers.  He  over 
ruled  her  reply,  and  rejected  entirely  the  anticipation  of 
any  danger  resulting  from  the  prospect  of  a  trial  in  the  city 
under  an  allegation  which,  in  his  case,  be  esteemed  so  idle.  ' 
"  I  can  soon  disprove  the  charge,  my  Janet,  I  have  witnesses 
enough  to  show  what  my  motives  were  in  coming  to  Piney 
Grove  that  night.  For,  Janet,  you  yourself,  doarest,  could 
speak  for  me — " 

"  I  could,  I  could,  dear  Ernest." 

"  But  should  not,"  he  replied  ;  "  you  should  not  suffer  such 
exposure  to  the  rude  soldiers  as  such  a  task  would  call  for 
No,  no,  my  love,  there  will  be  no  need^of  this.  The  scoundrel 


330 


MKLLICIIAMPK. 


Barsfield  only  seeks  to  alarm  or  to  annoy  you.  Perhaps,  too 
he  has  some  object  in  it.  This  affair  is  his  entirely  ;  Tarleton 
and  Balfour  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  Cornwallis  is  far 
off  in  North  Carolina." 

"  Not  so,  Ernest.  Barsfield  has  convinced  me  that  the  or 
ders  are  from  Tarleton  :  for,  when  I  doubted  his  word,  he 
showed  me  the  letter  of  Tarleton,  written  with  his  own  hand." 

"  Ah  !  then,  there  is  something  in  it,"  was  the  involuntary 
exclamation  of  the  youth.  Then,  as  he  beheld  the  immediate 
effect  of  his  own  gloomy  look  and  speech  upon  the  counte 
nance  of  the  maiden,  he  proceeded  in  a  more  cheerful  manner. 

"  But  I  fear  them  not,  my  Janet,  they  can  not,  they  dare  not 
harm  me.  I  can  prove  my  innocence,  even  should  they  pro 
ceed  to  the  threatened  trial,  which  I  misdoubt  they  never  will 
do;  and,  if  they  do  me  less  than  justice,  my  countrymen  will 
avenge  it." 

But  such  an  assurance  gave  no  animated  hope  to  Janet. 
Her  tears  burst  forth  afresh,  and  she  clung  to  his  arm  and  hung 
upon  his  shoulder  droopingly  and  despondingly. 

"  Hear  me,  Janet,  dear  love,  and  have  no  apprehensions. 
You  know  not  how  strong  is  our  security  now  against  any  such 
crimes  in  future,  as  these  tyrants  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
committing  upon  the  brave  men  who  have  fallen  into  their 
hands.  We  have  required  our  commander  to  retaliate  unspar 
ingly,  and  Marion  has  pledged  himself  to  do  so.  When  his 
pledge  is  given  it  is  sacred.  We  have  called  upon  him  to 
avenge  upon  a  prisoner  of  equal  grade  any  execution  of  our 
officers  by  the  British  commanders  ;  and  we  have  freely  sub 
scribed  our  names  to  the  paper,  in  which  we  offer  our  lives 
freely  to  sustain  him  in  such  a  course,  and  thus  afford  a  solemn 
proof  of  our  sincerity.  The  enemy  is  not  unadvised  of  this, 
and  they  have  become  cautious  since  that  affair  at  Camden. 
We  hear  of  no  more  executions  ;  they  know  better,  my  love, 
than  to  proceed  in  this  matter  to  any  length.  They  will  pay 
dearly  for  every  drop  which  is  shed  of  my  blood." 

"Alas!  Ernest,  this  consoles  me  nothing.  On  the  contrary, 
this  very  pledge  which  you  have  given  to  Marica,  caJling  for 
retaliation  upon  the  British,  and  promising  to  abide  the  cons* 


TROUBLES    OF    T1IK    LOVERS.  331 

Alienees  with  your  own  life,  will  it  not  make  you  only  the  more 
obnoxious  to  them  ?  Will  they  not  be  the  more  disposed  to 
punish  you  for  that;  and  will  it  not  prompt  them  to  receive  the 
most  ridiculous  charge  with  favor,  if  it  promises  to  secure  them 
a  victim  in  one  who  has  shown  so  much  audacity  ?  I  fear  me, 
Ernest,  that  this  very  matter  has  led  Tarleton  to  forget  his 
promise  to  me,  and  determines  him  to  make  you  abide  the  pen 
alty  for  which  you  have  pledged  yourself.  Perhaps,  too,  it 
may  be,  that  Marion,  in  obedience  to  the  pledge  given  to  you, 
lias  executed  some  British  officer." 

This  was  a  plausible  suggestion,  and  did  not  tend  in  the 
slightest  degree  to  assure  Mellichampe  of  the  integrity  of 
his  own  opinions.  It  made  him  thoughtful  for  a  while,  and 
increased  the  gloomy  density  of  the  prospect  before  him ; 
but  he  did  not  suffer  himself  to  forget  for  an  instant  that 
it  was  his  business  to  prevent  the  maiden  from  brooding  ap 
prehensively  upon  a  subject  so  calculated  to  make  her  miser 
able,  and  which  had  already  so  painfully  worked  upon  her 
feelings.  He  strove,  by  alternate  defiance  and  ridicule,  to 
show  that  the  danger  was  not  so  great  when  it  was  ap 
proached —  that  the  British  did  not  dare  do  what  was 
threatened  ;  and  that,  however  willing  and  desirous  they 
might  be  to  shed  the  blood  of  their  enemies,  a  discreet 
consideration  of  their  own  safety  would  keep  them  in  future 
from  any  wanton  execution  of  their  prisoners. 

"  And  should  they,  in  their  madness,  attempt  my  life,  the 
vengeance  which  would  follow  the  deed  would  be  such  as 
would  make  them  repent  of  the  error  to  the  latest  moment. 
Life  for  life  would  be  the  atoning  requisition  of  Marion,  and 
of  every  officer  pledged  to  retaliation  along  with  myself." 

But  that  which  in  the  shape  of  revenge,  had  the  power  to 
console  in  part  the  audacious  soldier,  failed  utterly  to  pro 
duce  a  like  effect  upon  the  maiden.  Her  tears  came  forth 
afresh  at  these  words,  and  mournfully  she  sobbed  out  the  re 
ply  which  most  effectually  silenced  all  further  assurances  of 
this  nature. 

"  Alas !  Ernest,  but  this  vengeance,  which  would  be  taken 
by  your  brethren  i~i  arms,  would  be  nothing  to  me.  To  reveng* 


'232  MKLLICILAMPE. 

f 

your  fate  would  not  be  to  restore  you  ;  and  for  all  my  ven 
geance  I  look  only  to  Heaven.  Speak  not  to  me  oi"  these 
things,  dearest  Ernest,  they  only  make  the  danger  seem  more 
real,  and  it  looks  more  closely  at  hand  when  you  speak  thus." 

"  Then  hear  me  on  another  topic,  Janet." 

She  looked  up  inquiringly,  and  the  tears  began  tw  dry  upon 
her  cheek  as  she  beheld  a  bright  light  and  a  gathering  elasti 
city  of  expression  in  his  eyes.  Her  head  was  thrown  back  as 
she  looked  up  into  his  face,  whilejiis  extended  hands  grasped 
her  arms  tenderly. 

"  I  will  not  risk  this  trial,  Janet,  I  will  escape  from  this 
double  bondage,  yours  and  the  enemy's." 

"How!"  was  the  wondering  exclamation  of  the  maiden. 

"  I  have  a  thought,  not  yet  fully  matured  in  my  mind,  by 
which  T  think  my  escape  may  be  effected.  But  no  more  of  it 
now.  That  is  the  footstep  of  the  surgeon.  Away,  dearest, 
and  have  no  fears.  Despond  not,  I  pray  you,  but  be  ready 
with  all  your  strength  of  mind  to  give  me  your  assistance,  for 
I  greatly  depend  on  you  in  my  design." 

With  a  hurried  embrace  they  separated  as  the  surgeon  en 
tered  the  chamber;  and  Janet  hurried  a* '/ay,  with  a  full  heart 
and  troubled  mind,  to  pray  for  her  lover  s  safety,  and  to  dreasn 
of  hii  coming  danger. 


THE.    HALF-BKEED    BETRAYS    THE    TORY/  338 


CHAPTER   XL. 

THE  HALF-BREEp  BETRAYS  THE  TORY. 

BUT  it  was  not  for  the  maiden  to  retire  that  night  to  her 
slumbers  without  some  better  assurances  for  hope  than  those 
contained  in  the  parting  intimation  of  her  lover.  An  auxil 
iary,  but  little  looked  for,  was  at  hand;  and,  as  she  left  the 
little  ante-chamber  in  which  her  interview  with  Melliehampe 
had  taken  place,  she  felt  her  sleeve  plucked  by  some  one  from 
behind.  She  turned  in  some  trepidation,  which  was  instantly 
relieved,  however,  as  her  eye  distinguished  the  intruder  to 
be  Blonay.  The  distorted  features  of  this  man  had  never 
offended  Janet,  as  they  were  apt  commonly  to  offend  those  of 
others.  She  saw  nothing  in  mere  physical  deformity,  at 
any  time,  to  hate  or  to  despise;  and,  as  pity  was  always  the 
most  ready  and  spontaneous  sentiment  of  her  soul,  she  had 
regarded  him  from  the  first,  as  she  knew  nothing  of  his  moral 
deformities,  with  none  but  sentiments  of  commiseration  and 
indulgence. 

The  effect  of  this  treatment,  and  of  these  invariable  shows 
of  sympathy  on  her  part,  was  always  made  visible  in  his  de 
portment  and  look  whenever  he  approached  her.  lie  strove, 
on  all  such  occasions,  to  subdue  and  keep  down  those  expres 
sions  of  hate,  cunning,  and  cupidity,  which  a  long  practice  in 
the  various  arts  of  human  warfare  had  rendered,  if  not  the 
natural,  the  habitual  features  of  his  face.  A  ludicrous  com 
bination  of  natural  ugliness  with  smiles,  intended  for  those  of 
complaisance  and  regard,  was  the  consequence  of  these  efforts  ; 
and,  however  unsuccessful  the  half  breed  may  have  been  in 
the  assumption  of  an  expression  so  foreign  to  his  own,  the 
attempt,  as  it  conveyed  a  desire  to  please  and  make  himself 


334 


AfELLICIIAMPE. 


agreeable,  was  sufficient  to  commend  him  to  the  indulgence  of 
one  of  so  gentle  a  mood  as  Janet  Berkeley. 

Approaching  her  now,  the  countenance  of  Blonay  wore  its 
most  seductive  expression.  The  grin  of  good-feeliug  was  of 
the  most  extravagant  dimensions,  expanding  the  mouth  from 
ear  to  ear;  while  the  goggle  eyes  above,  from  the  vastness  of 
the  effort  below,  were  contracted  to  the  smallest  possible 
limits.  But  for  this  good-natured  expression,  the  mysterious 
caution  of  his  approach  might  have  alarmed  the  maiden.  A 
single  start,  as  she  recognised  him,  only  testified  her  surprise, 
and  she  paused  quietly  the  moment  after,  to  learn  his  motive 
for  the  interruption. 

"  Hist,  miss  !  I  ax  your  pardon,  but  please  let  me  come  after 
you  in  the  room  ;  I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

She  did  not  scruple  to  bid  him  follow  lier,  and  they  entered 
the  apartment  in  which  she  had  conversed  with  Barsfield 
There  she  found  Rose  Duncan  awaiting  her.  Janet  signed  tc 
Rose  to  leave  them  for  a  while,  and  the  moment  they  were 
alone,  the  half-breed  drew  nigh,  and  in  a  whisper,  and  with  an 
air  of  great  mystery,  commenced  as  follows  :  — 

"  You've  Learn  from  the  cappin,  miss,  about  the  young  man 
what's  a  prisoner  here?" 

He  spoke  affirmatively,  though  with  an  inquiring  expression 
of  countenance,  and  Janet  nodded  her  head  assentingly. 

"  Adrat  it,  miss,  if  they  ever  gits  the  young  man  to  Charles 
ton  city,  there's  no  chance  for  him  ;  so  the  cappin  says." 

He  paused.  At  a  loss  to  determine  what  could  be  the 
motive  of  the  scout  in  thus  addressing  her  upon  this  topic,  yet 
fondly  believing  that  he  Lad  some  plan  of  service  in  reserve, 
by  which  he  hoped  to  commend  himself,  she  strongly  mastered 
her  feelings,  which  every  reference  to  the  painful  topic  brought 
into  increased  and  trying  activity  ;  and,  bowing  her  Lead  as 
she  spoke,  she  simply  respDnded  :  — 

"  True,  sir ;  yes,  I  fear  it  —  but  what  can  be  done  ?" 
This  question,  though   uttered  unconsciously,  and  entirely 
unintended,  was,  however,  to   the  point,  and   the  answer  of 
Blonay  was  immediate:  — 

"  Ah,  that's  it,  miss  —  what's  to  be  done  ?     The  cappin  says 


THE    HALF-BKKEI)    BETRAYS    THE    TOKY.  335 

something's  to  be  done,  but  lie  can't  do  it,  you  see,  'cauee 
they  trusts  him,  and  he  can't  break  his  trust.  It's  much  as  his 
neck's  worth,  you  see,  to  do  it." 

With  some  surprise,  she  inquired  of  whom  he  spoke. 

"  Why,  you  don't  know  the  cappin  that's  here  —  Cappin  Bars- 
field  ?  He  says  as  how  the  young  man's  to  be  hung  if  he  gits 
to  Charleston,  and  how  he  must  get  away  before;  and  he  tells 
me  I'm  to  try  and  git  him  off,  without  letting  the  sogers  see." 

'•Barsfield  —  Barsfield  say  this?  Barsfield  do  this,  Mr.  Bio- 
nay?  Impossible!  You  do  not  know  the  man." 

"It's  a  round  truth,  miss  —  lie  tell'd  me  so  with  his  own 
mouth,  and  tell'd  me  —  ax  pardon,  miss,  but  I  must  tell  you  all 
what  he  said — " 

He  paused  hesitatingly. 

"  Speak  boldly,"  she  said,  encouragingly. 

"He  said,  miss,  as  how  he  loved  you,  though  you  didn't 
fancy  him  no  how,  and  hadn't  no  thought  'ccpt  for  the  young 
fellow  that's  a  prisoner  ;  and  how  he  wanted  to  help  the  young 
man,  though  he  didn't  like  him  no  how ;  and  he  would  do  so, 
if  'twas  only  to  do  you  pleasure." 

"And  he  told  you  this?"  inquired  the  maiden,  in  unmixed 
astonishment. 

"  Jist  the  words,  miss." 

"  Indeed !" 

"Yes;  and  he  said  as  how  he  couldn't  help  the  young  man 
off,  for  he  had  to  watch  him,  but  that  I  must  do  it;  and  he 
gave  me  this  money  to  do  it." 

"And  did  he  counsel  you  to  tell  me  of  this?" 

"No,  miss,  he  only  tell'd  me  to  tell  you  that  I  could  git  the 
young  fellow  out  of  prison,  and  git  you  to  make  him  know 
how  he  was  to  do,  and  all  about  it;  but  the  cappin  told  me  I 
wasn't  to  say  nothing  about  him  in  the  business,  for  he  said 
you  hated  him  so  you  would  think  something  wrong  if  you 
knew  he  had  a  hand  in  it." 

"And  I  do  think  there  is  something  wrong  in  it.  Heaven 
help  me  !  what  new  plot  is  he  weaving  now  '?  What  new  mis 
chief  would  he  contrive?  Is  Mellichampe  never  to  escape  hip 
toils  T  Would  to  Heaven  that  I  had  a  friend  ?" 


336  MKLLICIIAMI'E. 

"  Adrat  it,  miss,  but  aint  I  willing  to  be  your  friend  1  and  I 
•won't  ax  you  for  no  pay.  I'm  a  poor  sort  of  body  enough,  and 
you're  a  sweet  lady  ;  but  I'm  willing  to  be  your  friend,  and  t\ 
pull  trigger  for  you,  if  needs  be  and  the  time  comes  for  it. 
Jist  say  now  that  I  shall  be  your  friend,  and  there's  no  telling 
how  much  I  can  help  you  in  this  here  squabble." 

"  You  can  help  me  nothing,  I  fear  me,  Mr.  Blonay ;  and  as 
for  tli is  plan  of  Captain  Barsfield,  I  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it  or  him.  I  doubt  —  I  suspect  all  his  plans;  and  how 
ever  lie  may  profess  of  regard  for  me,  I  look  upon  this  employ 
ment  of  you,  for  the  purpose  of  which  you  speak,  as  only  a 
new  scheme  for  the  entrapment  of  Mr.  Mellichampe." 

"That's  jist  what  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  miss;  for,  you 
seo,  it  don't  stand  to  reason,  that  when  a  man  hates  another 
to  kill,  he's  going  to  help  him  to  git  away  ;  and  so,  when  the 
cnppin  first  spoke  to  me,  I  was  bewildered  like,  and  said  I'd 
do  it;  but,  soon  as  I  got  in  the  bush  and  began  to  think  about 
it,  aclrat  it  !  the  whole  contrivance  stood  clear  before  me,  and 
so  I  went  back  to  him." 

"For  what?" 

"  "Well,  you  see,  to  tell  him  as  how  I  couldn't  think  to  han 
dle  the  thing,  for  I  didn't  see  to  the  bottom  of  it." 

"Well  —  what  then?" 

"Why,  then  he  up  and  tell'd  me  all  the  whole  truth  —  all 
what  he  kept  before  :  and,  sure  enough,  'twas  jist  as  I  thought, 
and  jist  what  you  think.  The  cappin  only  wanted  to  have  a 
drive  himself  at  the  young  fellow,  and  he  thought,  if  he  could 
git  me  to  talk  to  you,  and  make  fine  promises  as  how  I  could 
git  him  out  of  prison,  why,  I  should  lead  him  into  a  trap  that 
ne'd  set,  so  that  there  would  bo  no  gitting  off." 

"  You  refused  ?" 

"No,  reckon  not.  I  worn't  a  fool,  you  see.  I  know'd  if  I 
said  no,  it  wouldn't  be  so  safe  for  me  any  longer  in  these  parts; 
and  then  agin  I  know'd  if  he  didn't  git  me  he'd  git  somebody 
else,  so  I  took  the  money,  and  promised  to  do  my  best  and  to 
try  you." 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Blonay  —  from  my  heart  I  thank  you. 
You  have  done  me  good  service  indeed  and  you  shall  be 


THE    HALF-BREED    BETRAYS    THE    TOKT.  337 

rewarded.  Had  you  not  told  me  all  of  this  business  —  bad  you 
suppressed  the  connection  of  Captain  Barsfield  with  the  de 
sign —  I  might  have  accepted  your  services  for  Mr.  Melli- 
cbampe  ;  nay,  I  must  have  been  driven,  by  the  desperate 
situation  in  which  he  stancls,  to  consent  to  his  flight  under 
your  direction.  And  then  —  oh,  horrible  to  think  upon  ! — my 
hand  would  have  been  instrumental  in  his  murder.  I  should 
have  prepared  the  snare  wJiich  was  to  give  his  victim  to  this 
bloody  man !" 

She  preserved  her  coolness,  though  trembling  with  the  new 
emotions  which  the  communication  of  Blonay  had  inspired, 
and  drew  from  him,  by  a  series  of  questions,  the  whole  dia 
logue  which  had  taken  place  between  him  and  the  tory.  From 
these  developments  she  was  persuaded  —  not  that  her  lover 
was  likely  to  escape  at  the  coming  trial,  and  thus  defeat  the 
wishes  of  his  enemy — but  that  the  anxious  thirst  of  Barsfield 
for  his  revenge  in  person  made  him  unwilling  to  lose  his  prey, 
even  through  the  hands  of  the  executioner.  With  this  impres 
sion  her  misery  was  doubly  increased.  She  saw  nothing  but 
dangers  and  difficulties  on  every  hand.  Should  Mellichampe 
be  carried  safely  to  the  city,  what  but  a  cruel  and  bitter  death 
awaited  him  there?  But  could  he  be  carried  there  in  safety  ? 
This  seemed  to  her  impossible.  Would  he  not  go  under  the 
custody  of  Barsfield  *s  creatures'?  No  longer  guarded  by  her 
watchful  attendance  —  no  longer  ,-^afe  from  the  presence  and 
the  obtrusion  of  others,  would  not  his  enemy  then  have  those 
thousand  opportunities  for  working  out  his  vengeance  which 
now  were  denied  him  by  the  excellent  arrangements  made  by 
Tarleton  ?  And  if  he  fled  before  that  period  came,  what  but 
the  knife  or  the  pistol  of  the  waylaying  ruffian  could  she 
expect  for  him  in  his  flight?  As  these  fears  and  thoughts 
accumulated  in  her  mind,  she  found  herself  scarcely  able  to 
maintain  a  proper  firmness  hi  the  presence  of  the  savage.  She 
accordingly  prepared  to  dismiss  him,  and  had  already  put  in 
his  hands  a  small  sum  of  gold,  which  he  did  not  demur  to 
receive,  when  she  remembered  that  it  might  be  of  advantage, 
and  was  certainly  only  her  duty,  to  disclose  these  circumstances 
to  Mellichampe  before  finally  rejecting  the  proposition. 


338  MELLICIIAMPK. 

'Seek  me  to-morrow,"  slic  said,  hurriedly,  'seek  me  in 
private,  when  the  troops  are  on  parade.  Keep  yourself  un 
seen,  Mr.  Blonay,  and  we  will  then  speak  more  on  this  matter.' 

At  the  earliest  opportunity  on  the  morning  of  the  next  day 
she  sought  Mellichampe,  and  unfolded  all  the  particulars  of 
the  interview  with  Blonay.  The  speech  of  her  lover,  as  he 
listened  to  her  communication,  astounded  her  not  a  little. 

"Admirable! — Excellent!"  were  the  words  of  exultation 
with  which  he  received  the  intelligence.  "This  will  do  ad 
mirably,  dear  Janet,  and  corresponds  finely  with  a  plan  which 
I  had  conceived  in  part.  A  good  plan,  attended  with  diffi 
culties,  however,  which,  without  the  aid  of  Blonay,  I  could  not 
so  easily  have  overcome.  I  now  see  my  way  through.  The 
scheme  of  Barsfield  will  help  me  somewhat  to  the  execution  of 
my  own  project,  and  must  greatly  facilitate  my  chances  of 
escape." 

"  Speak  —  how  —  say,  dear  Ernest,"  cried  the  maiden  breath 
lessly. 

"  Hear  me.  We  will  accept  of  the  services  of  this  fellow 
Blonay  —  I  will  take  his  guidance." 

"  What !  to  be  murdered  !" 

"  No  !   to  escape." 

She  shook  her  head  doubtfully. 

"Listen!"  he  proceeded.  "Blonay  is  trusted  by  Barsfield, 
and  evidently  does  not  trust  in  return.  It  is  shown  sufficiently 
in  the  development  which  he  has  made  to  you  of  all  the  plans 
of  the  tory.  We  do  not  see  exactly  why  this  should  be  so, 
but  so  it  evidently  is.  The  probability  is,  indeed,  that  Blonay 
is  conscious  that  he  has  no  claim  upon  Barsfield  after  he  shall 
have  served  him  by  my  death,  and  he  fears  that  he  himself 
will  be  as  soon  murdered  by  his  employer  when  he  shall  have 
discharged  his  agency,  in  order  to  the  better  concealment  of 
his  own  share  in  my  escape.  There  are  no  ties  among  ruffians 
save  those  of  a  common  interest,  and  the  policy  of  Barsfield 
will  be  the  destruction  of  one  to  whom  he  has  been  compelled 
to  confide  so  much.  According  to  Blonay's  own  showing,  the 
necessity  of  the  case  extorted  from  the  tory  a  confession  of  his 
true  design,  which,  before,  he  was  disposed  to  withhold.  Un- 


THE    HALF-BREED    BKTRAYS    THE    TORT.  339 

faithful  to  Barsfield, .the  half-breed  will  be  faithful  to  me;  and, 
from  all  that  I  can  see,  there  must  be  some  secret  reason  for 
his  desire  to  serve  you,  which  you  will  learn  in  time.  Mean 
while  we  will  accept  his. services  —  we  will  make  the  most  of 
him,  and  bribe  high  in  order  to  secure  him  at  all  points." 

"But  may  not  all  this  be  only  another  form  of  deception, 
dear  Ernest  ?"  cried  the  less  sanguine  maiden.  "  Think  you 
we  can  rely  upon  one' whom  money  can  buy?  Alas!  Ernest, 
"it  seems  to  me  that  these  dangers  grow  more  terrible  and 
numerous  the  more  we  survey  them.'' 

<;  To  be  sure  they  do,  dear  Janet  —  the  thing  is  a  proverb. 
But  we  should  never  look  at  the  fear,  but  the  hope  —  never  at. 
the  danger,  always  at  the  success.  Whether  Blonay  be  honest 
or  not,  it  matters  no  great  deal  to  me  in  the  plan  which  I  have 
formed.  To  a  certain  extent  we  may  still  rely  upon  him,  and 
be  independent  of  him  in  every  other  respect.  We  want  hut 
little  at  his  hands  —  little  in  his  thought,  and  little  in  that  of 
Barsfield  —  if  it  be  the  design  of  the  latter  to  entrap  me  into 
flight  the  better  to  effect  my  murder,  I  only  desire  to  secure 
my  escape  beyond  this  dwelling  —  to  escape  these  sentinels, 
and  once  more  plant  my  footstep  in  the  green  woods  that  grow 
around  us.  Let  him  help  me  but  to  that  degree  of  freedom, 
and  I  ask  nothing  further.  Let  the  strife  come  then  —  let  the 
ambuscade  close  then  its  toils  about  me,  and  the  danger  ap 
pear.  I  shall  then  be  free:  my  arms  to  strike  —  my  voice  to 
shout  aloud  —  my  soul  to  exult  in  the  fresh  air  of  these  old 
forests,  though  I  perish  the  very  next  moment." 

"  Speak  not  so,  Ernest,"  she  implored. 

"  I  must :  for  I  will  then  breathe  again  in  freedom,  though 
I  breathe  in  death.  I  shall  complain  nothing  of  the  fight." 

"  This  is  madness,  Ernest.  This  is  only  flying  from  one 
form  of  death  to  another." 

"Granted  —  and  that  is  much.  Who  would  not  fly  to  the 
knife,  or  the  sudden  shot,  to  escape  the  cord  —  the  degradation 
—  the  high  tree  —  and  the  howling  hate  that  surrounds  it,  and 
mingles  in  with  the  last  agonies  of  death.  Such  escape  would 
be  freedom,  though  it  brought  death  along  with  it.  But  I 
would  not  die,  my  Janet ;  with  proper  management  I  should 


340  MELLTCIIAMPE. 

be  secure."  He  spoke  with  an  air  of  confidence  that  almost 
reassured  her. 

"  How?"  she  cried,  anxiously  ;  "  tell  me  all  —  tell  me  your 
hope,  Ernest.  How  will  you  escape  —  by  what  management?" 

"  By  the  simplest  agency  in  the  world.  Hear  me:  Even 
now  that  trusty  fellow,  Witherspoon,  is  lurking  around  my 
prison.  Only  last  night,  just  after  you  left  me,  I  heard  his 
signals  close  upon,  and  evidently  this  side  of,  the  avenue. 
But  for  the  fear  of  provoking  suspicion  I  should  have  answered 
them.  He  is  about  me  night  and  day  —  he  will  sooner  desert 
the  squad  than  me.  And  thus  he  will  remain  ;  if  I  can  convey 
intelligence  to  him,  I  can  do  anything  —  I  can  effect  my 
escape.  I  can  put  it  out  of  the  power  of  Barsfield  to  do  me 
any  harm,  unless  he  does  it  in  fair  fight." 

"But  how  will  you  (To  this;  and  what  can  I  do  toward  it?" 

"Much,  dearest  —  very  much.  But  hear  me  further.  If  I 
can  say  to  Witherspoon,  '  On  such  a  night  I  fly  from  my  prison 

—  I  meet  you  at  such  a  place  —  I  pursue  such  a  course  —  I 
apprehend   an  ambuscade,   and   will   require  that   a   counter- 
ambuscade  be  set' — ha!   do  you  see?" 

"Yes  —  yes  —  go  on." 

"He  will  understand  —  it  will  come  to  him  like  a  light- 
like  a  light  from  Heaven.  He  will  not  be  able  to  bring  men 
enough  to  encounter  Barsfield's  whole  force,  which  has  been 
growing  largely,  you  tell  me,  but  he  will  bring  enough  to  tell 
against  the  few  whom  the  tory  will  employ  for  my  murder,  and 
thus  —  ah  !  you  understand  me  now." 

"  Yes,  Ernest,  but  still  I  fear." 

"  I  hope  ! — what  do  you  fear  ?" 

"The  fighting—" 

"  And,  if  I  am  free,  dear  Janet,  I  should  still  have  to  fight 
until  the  war  is  over  —  until  the  invader  has  gone  from  the 
land." 

"  Yes,  but  —  oh,  Ernest,  if  there  should  not  be  men  enough  ? 

—  if  they  should  not  come  in  time — ?" 

"  These  are  risks  which  I  must  take  hourly,  my  beloved,  and 
of  which  I  may  not  complain  now.  Remember  the  dreadful 
risk  which  I  incur  while  remaining.  Is  there  no  risk  in  going 


THE   HALF-BREED    BET  It  AYS    THE   TOUT. 

under  a  guard  to  Charleston,  to  be  tried  as  a  spy  —  and  by 
such  judges  as  Balfour,  Rawdon,  and  Tarleton  ?" 

She  shuddered,  but  said  nothing.     He  continued  — 

"  No,  my  love,  I  must  not  scruple  to  avail  myself  of  the  he]p 
of  Blonay,  whether  he  be  true  or  false.  Let  him  but  help  me 
beyond  this  prison  —  to  those  woods  —  I  ask  from  him  no  more. 
Let  him  lead  me  to  the  ambuscade.  If  we  can  convey  intelli 
gence  to  Witherspoon,  we  shall  provide  for  it.  I  shall  with 
hold  everything  from  Blonay  that  might  place  us  in  his  power. 
He  shall  know  nothing  of  our  plans,  but  be  suffered  to  pursue 
his  own.  He  shall  guide  me  beyond  the  prison  —  that  is  all 
that  I  require;  and  as  it  is  Barsfield's  own  plan  which  we  so 
far  follow  up,  he  will  doubtless  effect  all  necessary  arrange 
ments  for  speeding  me  beyond  the  regular  guards  in  safety. 
Once  let  me  reach  the  avenue,  and  I  leave  his  guidance  and 
take  the  opposite  path,  where  I  propose  that  Witherspoon 
shall  place  his  men." 

"  And  you  will,  then,  employ  Blonay  to  convey  this  matter 
to  Witherspoon  ?" 

"No,  no.  We  must  have  a  trustier  friend  than  Blonay  for 
such  a  business,  and  this  is  another  difficulty.  Blonay  could 
never  find  Witherspoon  unless  provided  with  certain  passwords 
which,  as  they  furnish  the  key  to  the  very  dwelling  of  the. 
'  swamp-fox/  I  may  not  confide  wantonly." 

"Trust  me,  then,  dear  Ernest;  I  will  seek  him  —  I  will  not 
betray  the  trust,  though  they  make  even  death  the  instrument 
for  extorting  it  from  my  lips." 

"True  heart  —  dear  love  —  I  thank  you  for  this  devotion, 
but  I  must  seek  an  humbler  agent." 

"  Who  1" 

"  Scipio.  I  will  trust  him,  and  you  shall  counsel  him,  as  I 
am  not  permitted  to  see  him  here,  or  to  go  beyond  my  prison. 
To  you  will  I  give  these  words  —  to  you  will  I  confide  all  the 
requisitions  which  I  make  upon  Witherspoon  for  the  object  in 
view,  and  we  must  then  arrange  with  Blonay  to  pave  the  way 
for  my  flight  from  the  dwelling,  holding  him,  and,  through 
him,  his  base  employer,  to  the  idea  that  I  fly  upon  the  fiist 
inggestion  >f  Blonay,  having  no  hope  of  aid  from  without." 


;542  MEI.LICIIAMI'R 

And  tlius,  strong  in  liis  Lope  of  success,  and  buoyant  with 
the  promise  of  an  escape  from  tlie  clangers  of  that  mock  trial, 
but  real  judgment,  which  had  been  held  up  before  him,  and 
which  be  regarded  with  no  less  earnestness,  though  with  noth 
ing  of  the  fear  of  his  feminine  companion,  he  detailed  to  the 
maiden  the  entire  plan  which  he  had  formed  of  flight,  and, 
whispering  in  her  ear  the  passwords  which  led  her  through 
every  scout  and  sentry  watching  around  the  camp  of  Marion, 
lie  left  it  to  her  to  pencil  the  message  to  Witherspoon,  which 
he  calculated  would  bring  sufficient  aid  for  the  service  upon 
which  he  was  required.  The  spirits  of  Janet  rose  with  the 
task  thus  put  upon  her.  To  be  employed  for  him  she  loved, 
in  peril  no  less  than  in  trouble,  was  the  supremest  happiness 
to  a  heart  so  loving  and  so  true  as  hers.  Her  quick  mind 
readily  conceived  the  tasks  before  her,  and  her  devoted  heart 
led  her  as  quickly  to  their  performance. 


THE    TOKY    EXULTS    LN    HOPES    OF    VKNGEAlfCE.  343 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE  TORY  EXULTS  IN  HIS  HOPES  OF  VENGEANCE. 

JANET  lost  no  time  in  the  performance  of  lier  duties.  She 
immediately  sought  out  the  half-breed.  lie  lingered  about 
the  dwelling,  and  was  soon  called  into  her  presence.  It  was 
with  no  small  surprise  that  he  now  listened  to  the  determina 
tion  of  the  maiden,  to  avail  herself,  on  behalf  of  her  lover,  of 
the  services  of  the  scout  in  the  very  equivocal  aid  which  he 
had  been  prompted  to  offer  by  the  tory.  His  astonishment 
could  not  be  suppressed. 

"  It  surprises  you,"  she  said,  "  but  so  Mr.  Mellichampe  has 
determined.     He  thinks  it  better  to  risk  all  other  dangers  than 
that  of  a  dishonest  trial  before  bloody  judges  in  the  city." 
The  half-breed  shook  his  head. 

"  Wea,  now,  it's  mighty  foolish  ;  for,  as  sure  as  a  gun,  Miss 
Janet,  k«e  cappin's  mighty  serious  about  this  matter,  and 
there'll  1*3  110  chance  for  the  young  gentleman,  no  how.  He'd 
better  n<re  uimk  of  it  now,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  th*u*a  you,  Mr.  Blonay  —  I  thank  you,  I'm  sure,  for  the 
interest  *«?a  lake  in  me  and  him  ;  but,  whatever  be  the  danger, 
Mr.  Mel  ^aampe  is  determined  upon  it,  if  you'll  only  give  your 
assistan  .— , 

"  Adi .  .,  s«  i  ne  shall  have  that,  fur  as  I  can  go  for  him.  Say 
what  I',—  «**  uo  that's  in  reason,  and  I'll  do  it." 

"  Yoi  vuiiun.  procure  him  some  arms  for  his  defence.  If  there 
is  da&g  -  *wu  K.now,  he  should  be  provided  with  some  weapons 
to  meet 

"  Arl  4-—*  eword  p'rhaps —  a  knife  —  reckon  he'd  like  pis 
tols  too 


344  MELLICHAMPK. 

"  Whatever  be  can  get." 

"  I'll  try  —  but  tbere's  no  saying.     I'll  do  what  I  can."     , 

"  He  desires  no  more  of  you.     Next,  you  must  find  out  ex 
actly  \vliere  Captain  Barsfield  puts  bis  ambuscade." 

"  Eli ! — that's  the  trap,  you  mean  ?" 

"  Yes — find  out  that,  get  the  weapons,  and  at  midnight  to 
morrow  he  will  be  ready  to  go  with  you." 

"To-morrow  night  —  midnight! — well,  now,  Miss  Janet 
that'll  be  a  bad  time,  seeing  that  thcr'll  be  a  bright  moon  then.' 

She  paused  —  hesitated  —  but  a  moment  after  repeated  the 
order. 

"It  must  be  then.  He  wishes  it  to  be  so  —  he  has  so  deter 
mined." 

"  Jist  as  you  say,  miss.  I'm  ready  —  though  it's  a  mighty 
tough  sort  of  business,  I  tell  you  ;  and  the  cappin's  got  a  ground 
knife  for  the  lad,  I  reckon.  He  bates  bin  pretty  bad,  and 
won't  miss  his  chance,  if  he  can  help  it." 

"Be  you  true  to  us,  Mr.  Blonay;  be  you  true,  and  I  hope 
for  the  best.  Be  you  true  to  us,  as  you  would  hope  for  God's 
blessing  on  your  life  hereafter.  Take  this  purse,  Mr.  Blonay 
—  the  gift  is  small,  I  know,  but  it  will  prove  to  you  how  grate 
ful  I  am  for  what  you  have  done  for  me,  and  be  an  earnest  of 
what  I  shall  give  you  for  your  continued  fidelity." 

She  put  a  richly  wrought  purse  of  silk  into  his  hands,  through 
the  interstices  of  which  the  half-breed  beheld  distinctly  tho 
rich  yellow  of  the  goodly  coin  which  filled  it.  It  was  no  part 
of  his  morality  to  refuse  money  on  any  terms,  and  he  did  not  af 
fect  any  hesitation  on  the  present  occasion.  It  found  its  way 
readily  into  a  general  reservoir,  which  was  snugly  concealed 
by  his  dress,  and  there  became  kindred  with  the  guineas  which 
Barsfield  had  bestowed  upon  him  for  a  very  different  service. 

Though  without  doubt  intending  to  be  faithful  to  Janet,  and 
distrusting  Barsfield  on  his  own  account,  the  gift  of  the 
maiden  stimulated  his  fidelity,  and  he  seriously,  though  in  his 
own  rude  and  broken  manner,  attempted  to  dissuade  her  from 
the  project.  Janet  heard  him  patiently,  thanked  him  for  his 
counsel,  but  reiterated  the  determination  of  Mellichampe  tc 
abide  his  chance. 


THE    TO.RY    EXULTS    IN    HOl'KS    OF    VKNGKA.NCE.  345 

"Well  —  if  that  s  the  how,  he  exclaimed,  conclusively,  the 
butt  of  his  rifle  sinking  heavily  upon  the  floor  as  he  spoke  — 
"  if  that's  the  how  and  he's  bent  to  take  his  chance,  he  must 
go  through  v.lth  it —  though  I  warn  you,  Miss  Janet,  there'll 
b«  main  hard  fighting — " 

"  Be  sure  you  get  the  weapons,"  she  said,  interrupting  him. 

"I'll  try;  for  he'll  want  'em  bad,  I  tell  you.  I'll  do  my 
best,  and  if  so  be  I  can  get  him  out  of  the  scrape,  it  won't  bo 
the  guineas,  Miss  Janet,  that'll  make  me  do  it.  You're  a  lady, 
every  inch  of  you,  and  I'll  work  for  you  jist  the  same  as  if  you 
hadn't  gi'n  me  anything;  and — "  in  a  half-whisper  conclu 
ding  the  sentence  —  "if  it  comes  to  the  scratch,  you  see,  adrat 
it  '  I  won't  stop  very  long  to  put  it  to  the  capphvs  own  head," 
and  he  touched  significantly  the  lock  of  his  rifle.  She  shud 
dered  slightly,  not  so  much  at  the  action  or  the  words  as  at 
the  dreadful  lo&k  which  accompanied  them. 

"  To-morrow  I  shall  see  you,  then  ?"  she  said,  as  he  was 
about  to  leave  her.  "  You  go  now,  I  suppose,  to  communicate 
to  Captain  Bars  field  ?" 

"  Yes  —  off  hand.  He  tell'd  me  to  come  to  him  soon  as  I'd 
got  your  answer." 

"  Do  so,  Mr.  Blonay — and,  remember  the  hour  —  remember 
the  arms  !" 

The  scout  was  gone  —  the  die  was  cast  —  and  the  feelings 
of  the  woman  grew  uppermost  with  his  departure.  She  sank 
into  a  chair,  and  was  relieved  by  a  flood  of  tears. 

The  intelligence  brought  by  the  half-breed  rejoiced  the 
heart  of  the  tory. 

"And  when  does  he  propose  to  take  advantage  of  your 
offer?  What  time  has  he  appointed  for  the  flight?"  he  de 
manded,  eagerly.  The  scout,  more  cunning  than  Janet,  had 
his  answer  :  — 

"That  he  leaves  to  me.  I'm  to  git  things  ready,  you  see, 
cappin,  and  when  I  tells  him  I'm  ready  to  show  the  track,  he'll 
set  out  upon  it  with  me." 

•  " 'Tis  well !  You  have  done  excellently,  Blonay,  and  shall 
fare  the  better  for  it.  I  feared  th'at  she  might  be  suspicious  of 
you:  but  the  case  is  desperate  —  she  thinks  so,  at  least,  and 


MKUJClIAMi'K. 


that,  is  enough.  frarlcto»  and  Balfmir  are  not  known  as  mer 
ciful  judges,  and  Mellichampe  is  prudent  to  take  any  other 
risk. " 

^  The  tory  spoke  rather  to  himself  than  to  his  companion. 
The  latter,  however,  did  not  suffer  him  to  waste  much  time  in 
unnecessary  musing.  lie  put  his  inquiries  with  the  freedom 
of  one  confident  of  his  importance. 

"And  now,  cappin,  which  track  am  I  to  take?  You  wants 
to  fix  a  sort  of  trap,  and — " 

"A}'  —  }res!  But  you  must  let  me  know  the  hour  upon 
.ipon  which  you  start,  in  order  that  I  may  prepare  beforehand." 

"  Sal-tain,"  was  the  unhesitating  reply.  Barsfield  pro 
ceeded  :  — 

"  The  mere  departure  from  the  house  will  be  easy  enough. 
He  must  go  in  safety  out  of  the  immediate  enclosure.  Nothing 
must  be  done  to  harm  him  in  close  neighborhofd  of  the  dwel 
ling.  The  sentinel  guarding  the  gallery  will  be  missing  from 
the  watch  at  the  hour  on  which  you  tell  me  the  prisoner  is 
disposed  to  start.  Determine  upon  that  as  soon  as  possible,  in 
order  that  I  may  arrange  it.  The  sentinel  at  the  back-door 
will  also  be  withdrawn,  and  you  will  have  no  difficulty  in  get 
ting  to  the  bay  in  the  hollow  between  the  house  and  the  ave 
nue.  Lead  him  by  the  bay  toward  the  garden-fence;  follow 
that  close  until  you  reach  the  avenue,  and  by  that  time  you 
will  b<i  relieved  of  your  company,  or  never!" 

The  tone  of  Barsfield's  voice  rose  into  fierce  emphasis  as  he 
uttered  the  last  words,  and  the  triumphant,  and  bitter  hope  of 
his  malignant  heart  spoke  out  no  less  in  the  glare  of  his  eyes 
and  the  movement  of  his  uplifted  arm,  than  in  the  language 
from  his  lips.  He  thus  continued  :  — 

"Go  now  and  complete  your  arrangements  with  the  lady. 
Come  to  me  then,  and  tell  me  what  is  determined  upon.  ]-ie 
prompt,  Blonay,  and  stick  to  your  words,  and  you  shall  be 
properly  rewarded." 

The  half-breed  promised  Ir.m  freely  enough,  and  left  him 
instantly  to  do  as  he  was  directed/  The  soul  of  the  tory 
spoke  out  more  freely  when  he  was  alone. 

"Ay,  you  shall  be  rewarded,  but  with   a  fate  like  his.     J 


TIM*.  TORY  i.xri/rs  IN  HOTKS  OF  VKNGKANCK.        34-7 

should  be  a  poor  fool,  in  deed,  to  leave  such  a  secret  in  custody 
like  yours." 

He  little  knew  that  the  keen  thought  of  the  stolid- seeming 
Blomiy  had  seen  through 'his  design,  and  meditated  a  treach 
ery  less  foul,  as  it  had  its  cause  and  provocation. 

"  He  can  not  escape  me  now  !"  said  Barsfield  to  himself,  as 
lie  paced  to  and  fro  among  the  trees  where  he  had  spoken 
with  Blonay.  "Not  even  Tarleton  shall  now  pluck  him  from 
my  grasp.  His  doom  is  written  :  and  she  —  she,  too,  shall  not 
live  for  another,  who  scorns  to  live  for  me!  I  punish  her 
when  I  put  my  foot  on  him.  This  mockery  of  a  trial,  which 
Tarleton  has  devised  to  effect  his  escape,  deludes  not  me.  I 
*ee  through  him.  He  would  clear  him  :  he  aims  at  my  ruin. 
I  see  through  the  drift  of  this  order.  His  own  testimony 
would  be  brought  to  bear  in  behalf  of  my  enemy,  and  I  should 
only  be  cited  to  prove  that  which  he  would  find  others  to  dis 
prove.  I  shall  disappoint  his  malice.  Mellichampe,  by  his 
own  precipitation,  shall  disappoint  him.  His  benevolent  plan 
to  take  my  enemy  from  my  grasp  shall  be  defeated,  and  I 
shall  yet  triumph  in  his  heart's  best  blood.  Had  he  not  been 
my  e.nemy,  he  would  not  have  troubled  himself  with  such 
unusual  and  unbecoming  charity.  No  !  he  must  glut  his  own 
passion  for  revenge  and  blood  whenever  his  humor  prompts 
him,*  and  deny  to  all  others  a  like  enjoyment.  He  shall  not 
deny  me  —  not  in  this!  The  doom  of  Mellichampe  is  writ 
ten —  his  hours  are  numbered — and,  unless  hell  itself  con 
spires  against  me,  he  can  escape  me  no  longer !" 


348  MELLICIIAMPE. 


CHAPTER  XLI1. 


SCIPIO    SET    ON    TRACK. 


BLONAY  soon  made  his  communication  to  Janet,  and  bort; 
hio  intelligence  back  to  Barsfield. 

"To-morrow  night,  then,  is  resolved  upon?" 

"Midnight,"  replied  the  scout,  telling  the  truth,  which  he 
could  not  otherwise  avoid,  as  the  sentinel  was  to  be  withdrawn 
from  the  gallery  only  at  the  time  when  Mellichampe  was  pre 
pared  to  sally  forth.  Had  it  been  possible  to  conceal  the  fact, 
Blonay  would  not  have  exposed  it. 

44  He  lives  till  then  !'  was  the  fierce  but  suppressed  excU 
Diation  of  the  tory. 

"Where  do  you  go  now,  Mr.  Blonay?"  he  inquired,  seeing 
the  half-breed  about  to  move  away. 

"Well,  cnppin,  I'm  jist  guine  to  give  a  look  after  my  own 
man,  seeing  that  I've  been  working  hard  enough  after  your'n." 

''You  are  for  the  swamp,  then  ?" 

"  Well,  yes." 

"Remember  not  to  delay;  without  your  presence  the  pris 
oner  will  hardly  venture  on  a  start." 

"I'll  be  mighty  quick  this  time." 

"And  let  me  know  all  that  you  can  about  the  'fox.'  See 
to  his  force,  for  I  shall  soon  be  ready  to  take  a  drive  after 
him." 

The  half-breed  promised,  and  soon  set  out  on  his  journey, 
while  Barsfield  proceeded  exultingly  to  arrange  his  murderous 
projects.  That  night,  Janet  Berkeley  conveyed  to  Melli- 
cnampe  the  particulars  of  her  further  progress. 

"Well,  dearest,  does  he  give  the  route  we  are  to  take? 
kmve  you  got  that?"  — was  the  first  inquiry  of  the  youth. 


SCITIO   SET    ON    TllACK.  349 

She  repeated  the  words  of  Blonay,  which  detailed  the  route 
in  the  very  language  of  the  tory. 

"This  is  most  important.  As  we  have  that,  we  now  know 
what  to  do.  We  can  countermine  his  projects,  I  trust.  Wo 
can  prepare  an  offset  for  his  ambush  which  will  astound  him. 
The  villain  !  Along  the  bay,  by  the  fence,  and  toward  the 
mouth  of  the  avenue — his  ambush  is  there  :  there,  then,  must 
the  struggle  come  on.  Well,  well  —  it  must  be  so.  There  is 
no  retreat  now,  Janet  —  there  is  no  help  else!" 

"  Oh,  Mellichampe  !  there  is  retreat  —  there  must  be  retreat, 
if  you  really  think  the  ambush  lies  in  that  quarter.  You  must 
take  another  path,  or — " 

"No,  no,  Janet  —  no.  Think  you,  if  he  designs  to  murder 
me,  that  he  will  not  watch  my  flight?  Every  step  which  I 
take  from  these  apartments  will  be  with  the  eyes  of  his  crea- 
tures  upon  me." 

"  Then  go  not,  since  you  will  only  go  to  death." 

"  I  will  go,  Janet  —  I  must.  It  is  my  hope,  and  out  of  his 
malice  I  hope  to  make  my  security.  Hear  me,  and  under 
stand  his  plan.  He  will  assist  me  forth  from  his  encampment 
until  I  reach  its  utmost  limit,  and  he  will  then  set  upon  me. 
To  slay  me  within  its  boundary  would  be  to  incur  the  suspi 
cion  of  foul  play  on  the  part  of  his  superiors.  He  only  seeks 
to  avoid  that  —  that  is  all;  and  once  having  me  beyond  his 
bounds,  and,  as  it  were,  beyond  his  responsibility,  he  will  then 
have  no  scruple  to  slay  me,  as  he  will  then  have  his  ready 
reply  to  any  charge  of  foul  practice.  What  will  it  be  then 
but  the  shooting  down  a  prisoner  seeking  to  escape  —  that 
prisoner  under  charges,  too,  of  being  a  spy,  and  notoriously 
hostile  to  his  master  and  his  cause?" 

"  And  yet,  dearest  Ernest,  you  will  adventure  this  flight 
even  with  this  apprehension,  and  so  perfect  a  consciousness  of 
it  in  your  mind  ?" 

"Even  so,  Janet,  even  so.  I  think  he  may  be  foiled.  Next 
to  knowing  the  game  of  your  enemy  is  the  facility  of  boating 
him  at  the  play.  I  think  to  overmatch  him  now,  if  my  friends 
serve  me,  as  I  think  they  will,  and  if  they  are  still  in  the  neigh 
borhood.  We  must  lay  ambush  ;i gainst  ambush,  we  must  op- 


350  MELLICHAMl'K. 

pose  armed  men  to  armed  men,  and  then,  God  forget  us  if  we 
play  it  not  out  bravely." 

"  But  suppose,  dear  Ernest,  that  Scipio  finds  not  the  men, 
or  any  of  them." 

"  I  can  then  defer  the  flight,  Janet  :  l>ut  he  will  find  them  ; 
they  are  even  now  about  us,  and  so  bent  to  serve  me  is  Wither- 
spoon,  that  I  make  no  doubt  they  would  attempt  to  rescue  me 
from  the  clutches  of  the  tory  if  I  were  even  under  strong 
guard  on  my  way  to  Charleston.  They  know  my  danger, 
and  will  look  to  it.  Witherspoon  must  be  in  the  neighbor 
hood —  I  am  sure  of  it,  and  —  ha!  hear  you  not,  my  love  — 
even  as  I  speak,  hear  you  not  that  whistle  ?  far  off,  slight,  but 
yet  distinct  enough.  Hear  it  now  again,  and  again.  You 
will  always  hear  it  thrice  distinctly,  and,  if  you  were  nigh, 
you  could  distinguish  a  slight  quivering  sound,  with  which 
it  diminishes  and  terminates.  That's  one  of  our  signals  of 
encouragement,  and  to  my  mind  it  conveys,  as  distinctly  as 
any  language,  the  words,  'Friends  are  nigh  —  friends  are 
nigh  !"  We  have  a  song  among  us  to  that  effect,  written  by 
George  Dennison,  one  of  our  partisans,  a  fine,  high-spirited  and 
smart  fellow,  which  I  have  hummed  over  to  myself  a  hundred 
times  since  I  have  been  here,  it  promises  so  sweetly  to  one 
in  my  condition  :  — 

11 '  Friends  are  nigh  !   despair  not, 

In  the  tyrant's  chain  — 
They  may  fly,  but  fear  not, 
They'll  return  again. 

u  '  Not  more  true  the  season 

Brings  the  buds  and  flowers, 

Than,  through  blight  and  treason, 

Come  these  friends  of  oura  ' 

"  I  believe  the  assurance.  That  song  has  strengthened  me, 
that  single  whistle  note,  and  hear,  Janet,  hear  how  it  conies 
again,  closer  and  closer,  stronger  and  clearer.  That  Wither 
spoon  is  a  daring  fellow,  and  can  not  be  far  from  the  avenue. 
No  doubt  he  is  even  now  gazing  down  from  some  tree  upon 
the  unconscious  sentinels.  If  so,  I  am  safe.  lie  has  seen 


SCII'IO    SKT    ON    TKACK.  351 

all  their  positions — all  their  movements  —  and  has  an  eye 
and  a  head  that  will  enable  him  to  note  and  take  advan 
tage,  of  even  the  smallest  circumstance.  You  will  see!" 

"  Then  hurry,  dear  Ernest,  that  Scipio  may  find  him  even 
now  in  the  neighborhood*  Write  —  write." 

She  stood  beside  him  while  he  pencilled  a  scrawl  for  the 
courier  negro,  and  gave  it  into  her  hand. 

"  One  thing,  Janet,"  he  exclaimed,  as  she  was  about  to  leave 
him.  She  returned.  He  whispered  in  her  ear, 

"  Let  him  bring  me  weapons,  some  weapon,  any  weapon, 
which  may  take  life,  and  which  he  may  conceal  about  him." 

She  said  nothing  of  her  directions  to  Blonay  on  this  very 
subject.  He  mistook  her  silence,  and  his  words  were  intended 
to  reassure  her. 

"  I  must  not  be  unarmed,  my  Janet,  if  possible.  I  must  have 
something  with  which  to  defend  myself,  or  the  veriest  trumpet 
er  in  the  troop  may  destroy  me  at  odds  with  his  own  instru 
ment." 

The  youth  wrote  briefly  his  directions  to  Witherspoon  — 
described  his  situation  —  his  prospect  of  escape — the  route 
which  he  was  to  take,  and  the  dangers  which  attended  it.  This 
done,  Janet  immediately  sought  out  Scipio,  in  whose  skill. 
courage,  and  fidelity,  Mellichampe  placed  the  utmost  confi 
dence.  Before  giving  him  his  instructions,  she  strove  in  the 
most  earnest  language,  to  impress  upon  him  the  necessity  of 
the  utmost  caution.  Of  this  there  was  little  need.  Scipio  was 
a  negro  among  a  thousand  ;  one  of  those  adroit  agents  who 
quickly  understand  and  readily  meet  emergencies;  one  who 
never  could  be  thrown  from  his  guard  by  any  surprise,  and 
who,  in  the  practice  of  the  utmost  dissimulation,  yet  wore  upon 
his  countenace  all  the  expression  of  candor  and  simplicity. 
Add  to  this,  that  he  loved  his  master  and  his  master's  daughter 
with  a  fondness  which  would  have  maintained  him  faith t'nl, 
through  torture,  to  his  trust,  and  we  have  the  character  of  the 
messenger  which  the  urgencies  of  his  situation  had  determined 
Mellichampe  to  employ. 

The  difficulties  in  the  way  of  Scipio  were  neither  few  nor 
inconsiderable.  He  was  first  to  make  hisi  way,  without  search 


352  MKLLICHAMl'K. 

or  interruption,  beyond  the  line  of  sentinels  which  Barsileld 
had  thrown  around  the  family  enclosure.  These  sentinels  wore 
closely  placed,  almost  within  speaking  distance  from  each 
other,  within  sight  at  frequent  intervals  while  going  their 
rounds,  and  changed  frequently.  Succeeding  in  this,  the  negro 
was  to  go  forward  to  the  adjoining  woods,  and  make  his  way 
on  until  he  happened  upon  Witherspoon,  who  was  supposed  by 
Mellichampe  to  be  in  the  neighborhood,  or  some  other  of  the 
men  of  Marion,  who  could  be  intrusted  to  convey  safely  the 
paper  which  he  carried,  and  which,  describing  Mellichampe'fl 
situation  and  hopes,  suggested  the  plan  and  agency  necessary 
for  his  deliverance.  The  difficulty,  and,  indeed  danger  of  this 
latter  part  of  Scipio's  performance,  was  even  greater  than  that 
of  passing  the  tory  sentinels,  since  it  was  important  that  his 
missives  should  fall  into  the  right  hands.  To  be  so  far  de 
ceived  as  to  place  the  passwords  of  Marion's  men  and  camp  in 
other  than  the  true,  would  be  to  sacrifice,  in  all  probability, 
the  hardy  but  little  troop  of  patriots  who  found  refuge  in  the 
swamps  around. 

Scipio  well  understood  the  importance  of  his  trust,  and 
needed  no  long  exhortation  from  his  mistress  on  the  subject. 
After  hearing  her  patiently  for  a  while,  he  at  length,  with 
some  restiffness,  interrupted  her  in  the  midst  of  her  exhor 
tations  : — 

"  Da's  'nough,  missis,  I  yerry  you  berry  well  ;  you  no  'casion 
say  no'  mo*  'bout  it.  Entylknow  dem  tory  1  Ef  he  git  any 
ting  out  of  Scip,  he  do  more  dan  he  fadder  and  granfadder  eb- 
ber  'speck  for  do.  He's  a  mean  nigger,  Miss  Janet,  can't  trow 
dus'  in  the  eye  of  dem  poor  buckrah,  for  it's  only  dem  poor 
buckralf  dat  ebber  tu'n  tory.  Let  urn  catch  Scip  bu'ning  day 
light.  Kiity  my  eye  open  ?  da's  nough.  I  hab  for  pass  de 
sentry,  I  know  dat,  da's  one  ting,  enty,  I  hab  to  do  fuss  1" 

"  Yes,  that  is  first  to  be  done,  Scipio,  and  you  know  how 
close  they  are  all  around  us.  I  know  not  how  you  will  suc 
ceed." 

"  Nebber  you  mind,  Miss  Jennet ;  I  know  dem  sentry  ;  whay 
lie  gnine  git  gumption  for  double  up  Scio  in  lie  I  urn  and  fore 
finger,  I  wonder  ?  D,i'  lory  ain't  born  yet  for  sich  ting,  and  i 


SCIPIO    SET   ON   TRACK.  353 

ain't  fraid  'em.     Well'  speck  I   gone   through    dem   sentry,  I 
catch  the  clean  woods,  and  I  can  laugh  out,  wlia'  den?" 

"  Why,  then  you  must  look  out  for  Mr.  Withcrspoon." 

"  Masser  Wedderspoon.'why  you  no  call  urn  Tumbrcrew, 
like  udder  people  ?  Well,  I  hah  look  for  urn  ;  'spose  I  no  £ii' 
'om,  wha'  den  ?" 

"  You  must  look  out,  then,  for  some  other  of  Marion's  men , 
and  this,  Scipio,  is  the  difficulty." 

"  Wha'  make  him  difficulty  more  dan  ladder,  I  wonder  ?'* 
responded  the  confident  negro. 

"  Because,  Scipio,  if  the  passwords  get  into  the  possession  of 
any  of  the  British  or  lories  —  if  you  happen  to  mistake  and  — 

"  Gor-a'n'iighty,  Miss  Jennet,  you  only  now  for  mak'  'quaint- 
an'  wid  Scipio?  You  link  I  fool  —  blind  like  ground-mole, 
and  rooting  'long  in  de  ploughed  ground  widout  looking  wed- 
der  I  guine  straight  or  crooked  ?  You  'spose  I  don't  know 
tory  from  gernpleman?  I  hab  sign  and  mark  for  know  'em, 
jist  d<3  same  as  I  know  Mass  Ernest  brand  on  he  cattle  from 
old  maussa  s." 

"  Weil,  Scipio,  I  trust  in  your  knowledge  and  your  love  for 
me." 

"Da's  a  missis —  --da's  a  trute,  missis,  wha'  I  say  —  I  'speck 
if  ebbarybody  bin  Hb  you  like  Scip  arid  Mass  Mellichampe, 
you  git  inoro  Inb  in  dis  life  dan  you  can  ebber  carry  wid  you 
to  Heabheii.  lie  keep  you  down  from  Heabben  —  da's  a 
God's  trute,  missis --so  much  lub  as  you  git  on  dis  airt'.  But 
dis  is  all  noting  b  ;t  talk  and  cabbage.  You  mus'  hab  meat 
and  sarbice  —  I  know  dat.  I  guine  —  I  ready  when  ebber  you 
tell  me ;  but  s'pose,  when  I  gone,  old  maussa  call  for  me.  He 
will  call  for  me,  I  know  dat;  he  can't  do  widout  me;  and  he 
bery  hex  if  you  no  talk  to  um  and  tell  um  Scip  gone  upon 
transactions  and  degagements,  young  missis." 

"  Don't  let  that  trouble  you,  Scip  ;  I  will  speak  to  my  father 
when  you  are  going;  but  it  is  not  time  for  you  to  go  yet; 
something  more  is  to  be  done,  and  we  must  wait  until  night 
before  you  can  set  forth." 

"  Berry  well ;  whenebber  you  §ay  de  word,  missis,  Scip 
ready." 


354  MELLICHAMPK. 

The  faithful  negro  took  readily  the  instructions  given  him 
in  th«\r  fullest  scope.  He  comprehended,  so  far  as  it  was 
f:ou^ht  advisable  to  trust  him  with  the  scheme,  the  nature  of 
the  proposed  adventure.  He  was  fully  informed  on  all  the 
part  he  himself  was  required  to  play,  and  was  prepared  to 
communicate  freely  to  the  woodman.  Advising  and  imploring 
to  the  last,  the  maiden  dismissed  him  from  her  presence  to  put 
himself  in  readiness  for  his  nocturnal  journey,  with  a  spirit  full 
<>/  trembling,  and  many  an  inaudible  but  fervent  prayer,  from 
*  »  bottom  of  her  heart,  to  Heaven. 


SWAMP    STRATEGICS.  365 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

SWAMP    STRATEGICS. 

BLONAY,  as  we  have  seen,  had  proceeded,  after  leaving  the 
tory  captain,  upon  his  old  mission  as  the  avenger  of  blood. 
Night  after  night,  day  after  day,  he  had  gone  upon  the  track 
of  his  enemy,  and,  as  yet,  without  success.  But  this  did  not 
lessen  his  activity  and  hope ;  and  we  find  him  again,  with  un 
diminished  industry,  treading  the  old  thicket  which  led  to  the 
camp  of  Marion.  Let  us  also  proceed  in  the  same  direction, 
and  penetrate  the  gloomy  swamp  and  dense  woodland  recess 
which  sheltered  the  little  army  of  the  lurking  partisan.  The 
pomp  and  circumstance  of  war  —  the  martial  music  — the  gor 
geous  uniform  —  the  bright  armor  of  a  systematic  array  of 
military  power,  were  there  almost  entirely  wanting.  The 
movements  of  the  partisan  were  conducted  without  beat  of 
drum*  or  bray  of  trumpet.  In  the  silent  goings  on  of  the  night 
his  movements  were  effected.  Mysterious  shadows  paced  the 
woods  amid  kindred  shadows;  and,  like  so  many  ghosts  troop 
ing  forth  from  unhallowed  graves,  the  men  of  Marion  sallied 
out  in  the  hour  of  intensest  gloom,  for  the  terror  of  that  many- 
armed  tyrant  who  was  overshadowing  the  land  with  his  legions 

Never  was  a  warfare  so  completely  one  of  art  and  stratagem 
as  that  which  Marion  carried  on.  Quick  in  the  perception  of 
all  natural  advantages  which  his  native  country  presented  for 
such  a  warfare,  he  was  not  less  prompt  in  availing  himself  of 
their  use  and  application.  Hardy  and  able  to  endure  every 
privation  arid  all  fatigue,  he  taught  his  men  to  dwell  in  regions 
where  the  citizen  must  have  perished,  and  to  move  with  an 
alacrity  which  the  slower  tactics  of  European  warfare  could 
never  have  conceived  of.  In  his  camp  the  men  soon  learned 


MKLLICIIAMPK. 

to  convert  their  very  necessities  into  sources  of  knowledge  and 
of  independence.  The  bitter  of  the  acorn  soon  ceased  to  offend 
tlicir  appetites  and  tastes.  The  difficulties  of  their  progress 
through  buslies  and  briers  soon  taught  them  a  hardiness  and 
capacity  to  endure,  which  led  them,  after  no  long  period  of 
initiation,  to  delight  in  all  the  necessities  of  their  situation, 
and  to  rejoice  at  the  sudden  whisper  which,  at  midnight, 
aroused  them  from  their  slumbers  under  the  green-wood  tree, 
to  sally  forth  by  moonlight  to  dart  upon  the  new-forming  camp 
of  the  marauding  tory  or  unsuspecting  Briton. 

It  was  the  morning  of  that  day  on  which  Blonay  had  made 
his  communication  to  Barsfield,  announcing  the  acceptance  by 
Janet  Berkeley  of  his  offer  to  aid  in  the  escape  of  Mellichampe. 
The  camp  of  the  "  swamp-fox"  lay  in  the  stillest  repose.  The 
spacious  amphitheatre  was  filled  up  with  the  forms  of  slumber 
ing  men.  The  saddle  of  the  trooper  formed  a  pillow,  con 
venient  for  transfer  to  the  back  of  the  noble  steed  that  stood 
fastened  in  the  shelter  of  another  tree  close  behind  him,  the 
bridle  being  above  him  in  the  branches.  The  watchful  senti: 
nel  paced  his  round  slowly  on  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  looking 
silently  and  thoughtful  in  the  deep  turbid  waters  of  the  river. 
No  word,  no  whisper,  broke  the  general  stillness  —  and  the 
moments  were  speeding  fast  on  their  progress  which  should 
usher  in  the  dawn.  At  length  the  stillness  was  broken.  The 
tramp  of  a  steed  beat  heavily  upon  the  miry  ooze  which  gir 
dled  the  island,  and,  soon  following,  the  clear  challenge  of  the 
sentry  arrested  the  progress  of  the  approaching  horseman. 

"Who  goes  there?"  was  the  prompt  demand.  The  answer 
was  given. 

"Dorchester!"  The  scout  entered  the  lines  and  proceeded 
on  foot  to  the  little  clump  of  trees  which  had  been  devoted  to 
Marion.  The  new-comer  made  but  little  noise;  yet,  accus 
tomed  to  continual  alarms,  and  sleeping,  as  it  was  the  boast 
of  Marion's  men,  with  an  ear  ever  open  and  one  foot  always  in 
stirrup,  the  sound  was  quite  sufficient  to  raise  many  a  head 
from  its  pillow,  and  to  persuade  many  an  eye  to  strain  through 
the  gloom  and  shadow  of  all  objects  around,  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  person,  and,  if  possible,  guess  the  object  of  his  visit 


SWAMP    STBATEGICS.  357 

Here  and  there  a  whisper  of  inquiry  assailed  him  as  he  passed 
along;  and,  half  asleep  and  half  awake,  but  still  thoughtful  of 
one  leading  topic  of  most  interest  with  him,  one  well-known 
voice  grumbled  forth  an  inquiry  after  the  provision-wagons, 
and  growled  himself  to  sleep  again  as  he  received  no  reply. 
A  full  half-hour,  perhaps,  had  elapsed  before  the  visiter  came 
forth  from  the  presence  of  Marion  to  the  spot  of  general  en 
campment.  Thence  he  proceeded  to  a  tree  that  stood  by 
itself  on  the  verge  of  the  island,  where  lie  found  a  group  of 
three  persons  huddled  up  together,  and  still  engaged  in  a 
slumber  which  seemed  silent  enough  with  all,  though  scarcely 
very  deep  or  perfect  with  any.  One  of  the  three  started  up 
as  the  person  approached,  and  hastily  demanded  the  name  of 
the  intruder.  The  voice  of  the  inquirer  was  that  of  Thumb 
screw,  and  his  gigantic  frame  was  soon  uplifted  as  the  respond 
ent  announced  himself  as  Humphries. 

"Come  with  me,  Witherspoon  —  I  want  you,"  said  the 
trooper. 

"Wait  a  bit,  till  I  pull  up  my  suspenders,  and  find  rny  frog- 
sticker,  which  has  somehow  tumbled  out  of  the  belt,"  was  the 
reply. 

A  few  moments  sufficed  to  enable  him  to  effect  both  objects, 
and  the  two  emerged  from  the  shelter  of  the  tree  together. 
Day  was  dawning  as  they  gained  the  skirts  of  the  island 
where  Humphries  had  fastened  his  horse,  and  where  they 
were,  in  great  part,  free  from  the  observation  of  their  comrades, 
who  were  now  starting  up  from  their  slumbers  on  every  side. 
When  they  had  reached  this  point,  Humphries,  without  further 
preliminary,  unfolded  his  business  to  his  companion. 

"Thumby  —  old  fellow  —  I'm  hunted,  and  need  your  help." 

"Hunted?  how  —  by  whom?" 

"By  a  scoundrel  that  seeks  my  life  —  a  fellow  from  Dor 
chester,  named  Blonay." 

"Blonay —  Blonay  —  I  never  heard  that  name  before." 

"  Goggle,  then  ;  that's  the  nickname  he  goes  by.  You've 
heard  John  Davis  speak  of  him.  I  happened  to  ride  over  his 
old  mother  the  time  of  that  brush  at  Dorchester,  when  Major 


358  MKLUCIIAMI'K. 

Singleton  got  Colonel  Walton  out  of  the  cart,  and  he's  been 
hunting  me  ever  since." 

"  The  d — 1 !  But  how  could  he  find  you  out  ?  how  could 
he  track  you  so?" 

"  That's  the  wonder ;  hut  the  fellow's  got  Indian  hlood  in 
him,  and  there's  no  telling  where  he  can't  go.  He's  as  keen 
upon  trail  as  a  bloodhound." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?     How  do  you  know  he's  on  trail  ?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him?  but  I  know  he's  been  after  rne  for 
some  time."  And  Humphries  then  reminded  the  inquirer  of 
the  pursuit  of  Blonay  from  the  very  skirts  of  the  camp,  when, 
to  save  himself,  the  half-breed  slew  his  own  dog,  which  had 
led  to  his  detection,  and  so  nearly  to  his  capture. 

"And  why  do  you  think  that  he's  still  after  you?  Don't 
you  think  the  run  that  you  give  him  then  has  pretty  nigh 
cured  him  of  his  hunt  ?" 

"  No,  no  !  The  scoundrel  will  never  give  up  the  hunt  till 
he  can  see  my  blood,  or  I  draw  his.  There's  no  help  for  it; 
he  will  hunt  me  until  I  set  seriously  to  hunt  him." 

"And  you  have  heard  of  him  lately,  Bill?" 

"Ay  — '  heard  of  him'  —  felt  him  !     Look  here." 

And  as  he  spoke,  lifting  the  cap  from  his  head,  he  showed 
his  comrade  the  spot  through  which  the  passage  of  the  bullet 
was  visible  enough.  Then,  putting  aside  the  hair  from  his 
forehead,  he  placed  the  finger  of  Witherspoon  upon  the  skull, 
along  which  the  ball  had  made  its  way.  The  skin  was  razed 
and  irritated  into  a  whelk,  such  as  a  severe  stroke  of  a  whip 
might  occasion  upon  the  skin.  An  eighth  of  an  inch  lower, 
and  the  lead  would  have  gone  through  the  brain. 

"  By  the  etarnal  scratch  !"  exclaimed  Witherspoon,  as  he 
felt  and  saw  the  singular  effect  which  the  shot  had  produced, 
"  that,  I  may  say,  was  a  most  ticklish  sort  of  a  trouble.  It 
was  mighty  close  scraping,  Bill ;  and  the  fellow  seems  *o  have 
been  in  good  airnest  when  he  pulled,  though  it's  a  God's 
marcy  he  took  you  to  have  more  head  high  up  than  o*  one 
side.  Had  he  put  it  here  now,  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  I 
don't  care  which,  and  not  so  immediately  and  ambitiously  up 
in  the  centre,  he  would  have  mollified  your  fixings  in  mighty 


SWAMP    STRATEGICS.  359 

short  order,  and  the  way  you'd  have  tumbled  over  would  be  a 
warning  to  tall  men  like  myself." 

Humphries  winced  as  much  from  the  remarks  of  Wither 
«poon  as  under  the  heavy  pressure  of  his  finger,  which  rambled 
over  the  wounded  spot  upon  his  head  with  the  proverbia' 
callousness  of  a  regular  army-surgeon's. 

"  'Tis  just  as  you  say,  Thumby,"  replied  the  other,  with 
much  good-humor  —  "a  mighty  close  scrape,  and  ticklishly 
nigh.  But  a  miss  is  good  as  a  mile ;  and  though  this  shot 
can't  be  considered  a  miss  exactly,  yet,  as  no  harm's  done,  it 
may  very  well  be  counted  such.  The  matter  now  is,  ho%w  to 
prevent  another  chance,  and  this  question  leads  to  a  difficulty. 
How  did  the  fellow  come  to  take  track  upon  me  so  keenly 
from  the  jump?  and  how  has  he  contrived  to  keep  on  it  so 
truly  until  now  ?  These  are  questions  that  aint  so  easy  to 
answer,  and  we  must  find  out  their  answer  before  we  can  fall 
on  any  way  to  circumvent  the  varmint.  I  thought  at  first 
that  he  might  have  got  information  from  some  of  Barsiield's 
tories ;  but  since  we've  been  in  the  swamp  they  can't  take 
track  upon  us,  and  only  he  has  done  it;  for  the  general  now 
knows  that  it  was  this  same  skunk  that  show  3d  the  back  track 
of  the  swamp  to  Tarleton,  and  that  he  mod  certainly  found 
out  only  by  following  after  me.  I've  been  thinking  over  all 
these  matters  for  a  spell  now  of  more  than  ten  days,  and  I  can 
make' little  or  nothing  out  of  it;  and  to  say  truth,  Thurnby, 
it's  no  little  trouble  to  a  man  to  know  there's  a  hound  always 
hunting  after  him,  go  where  he  will,  in  swamp  or  in  thicket, 
on  the  high-road  and  every  where™  that  never  goes  aside  — 
tnirsting  after  his  blood,  and  trying  all  sort  of  contrivances  to 
e;it  at  it." 

"  It's  mighty  ugly,  sir,  that's  clear,"  said  his  companion, 
musing. 

"  Yet,  this  trouble  I've  known  ever  since  we  chased  the 
fellow  along  the  back  track,  when  he  cut  the  throat  of  hi* 
dog,  which  only  an  Indian  would  do,  to  put  us  off  his  own 
trail." 

"It's  an  ugly  bufciness,  that's  a  truth,  Humphries;  for,  net 
to  know  where  one's  enemy  is,  is  to  look  for  a  bullet  out  of 


360  MELLICIIAMPE. 

every  bush.     It  can't  be  that  some  of  our  men  have  been  play 
ing  double,  and  have  let  this  fellow  on  track?" 

"  No,  there's  no  reason  to  think  it,  for  none  of  them  have 
been  always  able  to  find  me  when  they  wanted  to,  and  we 
know  where  to  look  for  them  always." 

"It's  mighty  strange  and  hard  —  and  what  are  you  to  do, 
Bill?" 

"You  must  tell  me  —  I  know  not  what  to  do,"'  was  the  de 
sponding  answer  :  "  I've  no  chance  for  my  life  at  this  rate,  for, 
soon  or  late,  the  fellow  must  git  his  shot.  He'll  never  give  up 
hunting  me  till  he  does.  It's  the  nature  of  the  beast,  and 
there's  no  hope  for  me  until  I  can  put  upon  his  trail,  ,'in.l 
hunt  him  just  as  he  hunts  me.  The  best  scout  will  then  win 
the  game  and  clear  the  stakes." 

"  It's  mighty  sartin,  Bill,  that  he's  got  some  string  on  you 
in  partic'lar :  you've  kept  too  much  on  the  same  track." 

"No  —  from  the  moment  I  found  that  the  fellow  was  after 
me  in  the  swamp,  I've  been  changing  every  day." 

"  And  still  he  keeps  after  you  ?" 

"  His  bullet  tells  that." 

"  It's  mighty  strange.  Have  you  had  your  nag's  hoofs 
trimmed  lately  ^ 

"  No,  they  don't  need  it  —  they're  shod." 

"  Shod !" 

"  Yes,  in  the  forefeet." 

"  Well,  now,  it's  mighty  foolish  to  shoe  a  horse  that's  got  to 
travel  only  in  swamp  and  sand  ;  but  I'd  like  to  look  at  them 
shoes." 

"  Come,  then."  As  they  walked,  they  conversed  further  on 
the  same  subject. 

"  Where  was  them  shoes  put  on  ?"  inquired  Thumbscrew. 

•'  In  Dorchester,  about  three  months  ago." 

"And  where  was  this  Ingen  fellow  then?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  somewhere  about.  I  reckon." 

"  Show  me  the  critter  :  I'm  dub'ous  all  the  mischief  lies  in 
them  shoes." 

And,  following  Humphries,  Thumbscrew  went  forward  to 
the  spot  where  the  horse  was  tethered. 


SWAMP    STRATKGlCb.  3G1 

"  Lead  him  <>",  .5.1!  —  there,  over  that  soft  track — jist  a  few 
paces.  That'll  do." 

The  busy  eye  of  Witherspoou  soon  caught  the  little  ridges 
left  by  the  crack  in  the  shoe,  which  had  so  well  conducted  the 
pursuit  of  Blonay. 

"  I  guessed  as  much,  Bill,  and  the  murder's  out,  you've  given 
the  fellow  a  sign,  and  he's  kept  trail  like  a  turkey.  Look  here, 
and  here,  and  here,  a  better  mark  would  not  be  wanted  by  a 
blind  man,  since  his  own  finger  could  feel  it,  even  if  his  eyes 
couldn't  see.  There  it  is,  and  what  more  do  you  want?" 

Humphries  was  satisfied,  no  less  than  his  companion.  Tliey 
had  indeed  discovered  the  true  guide  of  Blonay  in  his  success 
ful  pursuit,  so  far,  of  his  destined  victim.  Nothing,  indeed, 
could  be  more  distinct  than  the  impression  left  upon  the  sand, 
an  impression  not  only  remarkable  as  it  was  so  unusual,  but 
remarkable  as  it  occurred  upon  a  small  shoe,  and  seemed  inten 
tionally  made  to  divide  it,  the  fissure  forming  the  ridge  making 
a  line  as  clearly  distinct  upon  the  shoe,  as  that  made  by  the 
shoe  itself  in  its  entire  outline  upon  the  pliable  sand. 

"  Well,"  said  Thumbscrew,  after  they  had  surveyed  it  for 
several  minutes,  "  and  what  are  you  going  to  do  now?" 

"  That's  what  I'm  thinking  of,  Thumby,  and  it's  no  easy 
matter  yet  to  determine  upon." 

"  How  !  why,  what  have  you  to  do  now  but  to  pull  off  the 
shoe',  and  throw  the  fellow  from  your  haunches,  Avhich  you 
must  do  the  moment  you  take  him  off  his  track." 

"  No,  no,"  coolly  responded  the  other,  "  that  will  be  making 
bad  worse,  Thumby,  since  to  throw  him  off  one  track  will  be 
only  to  make  him  hunt  out  for  another,  which  we  may  not  so 
readily  discover.  A  fellow  that  really  hungers  after  your 
blood,  as  this  fellow  does  after  mine,  ain't  so  easily  to  b-.i 
thrown  off  as  you  think.  To  throw  off  this  scent  would  be 
only  to  gain  a  little  time,  and  botch  up  the  business  that  we 
had  better  mend.  The  shoes  must  stay  on,  old  fellow  ;  and, 
as  we've  found  out  that  they  are  guides  which  he  follows, 
why,  what  hinders  that  we  should  make  use  of  them  to  trap 
him  ?"  .,- 

"  How  ?"  said  Witherspoon,  curiously.      £ 


3(52 


MKLLIOUAMI'K. 


"  Easy  enough,  Thumby,  if  I've  got  a  friend  in  the  world 
who's  willing  to  risk  a  little  trouble,  and  perhaps  a  scuffle,  to 
help  me  out  of  the  hound's  teeth." 

"  Gimini !  Bill  Humphries,  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  you 
ain't  been  my  friend,  and  that  I  ain't  yours  ?  Say  the  word, 
old  fellow,  and  show  your  hand,  and  if  I  ain't  your  partner  in 
the  worst  game  of  old-sledge  you  ever  played,  with  all  trumps 
agin  you,  and  a  hard  log  to  set  on,  and  a  bad  fire-light  to  play 
by,  then  don't  speak  of  me  ever  again  when  your  talk  happens 
to  run  on  Christian  people.  Say  the  word,  old  fellow,  and  I'm 
ready  to  help  you.  How  is  it  to  be  done  ?  what  am  I  to  do  ?" 

"  Take  my  track  also,  follow  the  shoe,  but  take  care  to  give 
me  a  good  start.  I  will  ride  on  the  very  route  where  I  got  the 
bullet." 

"  What !  to  get  another  ?" 

"  No.  I  will  ride  in  company,  and  Blonay  is  quite  too  cun 
ning  to  risk  a  shot,  with  the  chance  of  having  his  own  head 
hammered  the  next  minute  by  my  companion,  even  if  he  tum 
bles  me." 

"  I  see  1  I  see  !  He  will  be  on  your  track,  and  will  follow 
you,  as  he  has  done  before,  in  hope  to  get  another  chance. 
That's  it,  eh  ? 

"  Yes,  he  will  not  be  easily  satisfied.  Nothing  but  his  blood 
or  mine  will  satisfy  any  such  varmint  as  this  half-breed,  who 
takes  after  the  savages,  from  whom  he  comes  half  way.  He 
will  be  on  the  old  ground  which  he's  travelled  so  long,  and 
that  I've  travelled  ;  and  he  will  keep  close  about  me,  day  by 
day,  and  month  after  month,  and  year  after  year,  until  he  gets 
his  chance  for  a  sure  shot,  and  then  the  game's  up,  and  he'll 
not  rest  quietly  before.  I  know  it's  the  nature  of  the  beast, 
and  so  I'm  sure  of  my  plan  if  you  only  follow  it  up  as  I  show 
you,  and  as  I  know  you're  able  to  do  easy  enough." 

"  I'm  ready,  by  gum,  Bill.  You  shan't  want  a  true  hear* 
and  a  stiff  hand  in  the  play  on  your  side,  so  long  as  Thumb 
screw  can  help  a  friend  and  hurt  an  enemy.  I'm  ready  —  say 
the  word  —  the  when  and  the  how  —  and  here's  your  man  " 

"  Thank'ee,  Thumby,  I  knew  I  shouldn't  have  to  ax  twice 
and  so  now  listen  to  me." 


SWAilP    STRATEGICS. 


-363 


"  Crack  away," 

"  I  set  'off  in  two  hours  for  the  skirts  or  Barsfield's  camp, 
where  I'm  to  put  a  few  owls  who  shall  roost  above  him.  After 
fhat  I  take  the  hack  track  into  the  swamp,  and  John  Davis 
and  young  Lance  will  keep  along  with  me.  I  pretty  much 
^iiess  that  this  fellow  Blonay  will  not  let  half  an  hour  go  by, 
after  I've  passed  him,  before  he  gets  upon  trail  somewhere  or 
other,  and  fastens  himself  up  in  some  bush  or  hummock,  wait 
ing  a  chance  at  me  when  he  finds  I'm  going  back.  If  my  cal 
culation  be  the  right  one,  then  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  take 
the  trail  after  me,  keeping  a  close  look-out  right  and  left,  for 
the  fresh  track  of  an  Indian  pony.  If  you  see  that  little  bul 
let,  foot  of  a  swamp-tacky  freshly  put  down  in  the  swamp  or 
sand  after  mine,  be  sure  the  skunk's  started." 
"  I  see,  I  see." 

"Well,  when  you've  once  got  his  track,  we  have  him.  If 
he  finds  he's  got  some  one  on  his  skirts,  he'll  go  aside,  and 
you'll  lose  his  trail,  to  be  sure  ;  but  you'll  know  then  he's  cither 
on  one  side  or  'toder  in  (lie  woods  about  you  ;  and  all  you've 
got  to  do  is  to  ride  ahead  a  bit  and  go  into  the  bush  too." 
"  Good,  by  gimini  !" 

"What  then  ?  Soon  as  he  finds  all  things  quiet,  he'll  come 
out  of  the  bush  and  take  up  my  trail  as  he  did  before  ;  and,  if 
you  git  a  good  place  to  hide  in,  so  as  to  be  concealed  and  yel 
to  wa'tch  the  road,  you  can't  help  seeing  when  he  goes  ahead.' 
"  That's  true;  but  suppose  he  goes  into  the  bush  again,  wha< 
must  I  do  then  ?" 

"Just  what  you've  done  before,  the  very  thing,  until  he  geti 
to  the  bayou  that  opens  the  door  to  the  swamp.  If  you  can 
track  him  that  far,  you  can  track  him  farther;  for  when  he 
once  gets  there  he'li  be  sure  to  go  into  hiding  in  some  corner 
or  other  where  lie  knows  I  must  pass,  waiting  the  chance  to 
crack  at  me  again." 

"  Yes,  yes  !  And  I'm  to  try  and  find  out  his  hollow  ]  1  see, 
I  see.  It  ain't  so  hard,  after  all,  for  I'm  a  very  bear  in  the 
swamp,  and  can  go  through  a  cane-brake  with  the  best  of  them 
We  shall  have  the  skunk,  Bill,  there's  no  two  ways  about  it 
If  he  can  keep  the  track  of  a  horseshoe  through  mud  am! 


MELLiUllAMl'E. 

mire  for  a  month,  hunting  an  enemy,  'twont  be  very  hard  for 
me  to  keep  it  too,  helping  a  friend  :  and  though,  between 
us,  Bill — I'm  mighty  conflustered  about  Airnest,  and  that 
d  —  d  tory  Barsfield,  and  what  to  do  to  help  the  lad  out  of  his 
hobbles,  yet  I'm  not  guine  to  let  this  matter  stand  in  the 
way  of  yours.  I'll  go  neck  and  shoulders  for  yon,  old  fellow, 
and  here's  a  rough  fist  on  it." 

A  hearty  gripe  testified  the  readiness  of  the  one  to  assist 
his  friend,  and  the  warm  acknowledgments  of  the  other.  The 
two  then  proceeded  to  make  their  arrangements  for  the  prose 
cution  of  a  scheme  so  truly  partisan.  In  this  affair  it 
be  proper  that  we  should  attend  them. 


THE    COLD    TRAIL. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

THE    COLL)    TRAIL. 

THE  half-breed  that  morning  had  taken  a  stand  i*pon  the 
road  side  to  which  he  had  been  long  accustomed.  The  route 
was  one  frequently  trodden  by  his  enemy.  This  fact  Blonay 
had  ascertained  at  an  early  period  in  his  pursuit,  ami  here,  day 
after  day,  had  he  watched  with  a  degree  of  patient  quietude 
only  to  be  comprehended  by  a  reference  to  the  peculiar  blood 
which  was  in  him.  The  instincts  of  the  Indian  character  were 
his  instincts.  Hardily  to  endure,  stubbornly  to  resist,  perse 
vering!  y  to  prosecute  his  purpose  —  that  purpose  being  a  re 
venge  of  wrong  and  indignity — all  these  seem  to  have  been 
born  within  him  at  his  birth,  and  to  have  acquired  a  strength 
corresponding  with  that  of  his  continued  growth  and  accumu 
lating  vigor.  Such  instincts  are  scarcely  to  be  controlled  even 
by  education  —  the  education  which  he  had  received  had  only 
made  them  more  active  and  tenacious. 

The  half-breed  had  little  hope,  on  the  present  occasion,  to 
meet  again  with  his  enemy.  The  attempt  which  he  had  re 
cently  made  on  the  life  of  Humphries,  and  which  he  thought 
to  have  entirely  failed,  would,  he  believed,  have  so  alarmed 
the  trooper  as  to  have  impelled  him  to  seek  another  route,  or, 
at  least,  have  prompted  him  to  the  precaution  of  taking  com 
panions  with  him  when  lie  again  rode  forth.  It  was  with  a 
faint  hope,  therefore,  that  he  now  resumed  his  place.  On  the 
ensuing  night  he  was  to  effect  the  escape  of  Mellichampe,  the 
successful  prosecution  of  which  attempt  would,  he  doubted  not, 
result  in  raising  for  him  a  new  enemy  in  the  person  of  the  tory 
captain.  About  the  issue  of  this  adventure  he  had  various  mis 
givings.  He  questioned  the  practicability  of  success,  as  he 


366  MELLTOIIAMPK. 

knew  nothing  of  the  design  of  Mellichampe,  and  of  the  despatch 
which  had  been  sent  by  Scipio.  He  was  certain  that  Melli 
champe  would  be  slain,  but  he  concurred  in  the  supposed  pref 
erence  which  the  youth  gave  to  the  mode  of  dying,  in  the 
stroke  or  shot  of  sudden  combat,  rather  than  by  the  degrading 
cord.  He  was  pledged  to  serve  the  maiden,  and  to  comply 
with  her  wishes  was  the  best  mode  in  his  estimation. 

He  had  concealed  his  pony,  and  covered  himself  by  the  thick 
umbrage  around  him,  in  his  old  retreat,  when  the  sound  of  ap 
proaching  horses  called  for  his  attention.  With  a  feeling  of 
gratified  surprise  he  saw  his  enemy.  But  he  was"  accompanied  : 
John  Davis  rode  on  one  side  of  Humphries,  and  Lance  Framp- 
tor  on  the  other  —  all  well  mounted,  and  carrying  their  rifles. 

"  How  easy  to  shoot  him  now,"  thought  the  half-breed  —  "  I 
couldn't  miss  him  now  —  but  it's  no  use  :"  and  his  rifle  lay  un- 
lifted  across  his  arm,  and  he  suffered  the  three  to  pass  by  in 
safety.  To  forbear  was  mortifying  enough.  The  party  rode  by 
within  twenty  yards,  seemingly  in  the  greatest  glee,  laughing 
and  talking.  A  less  cool  and  wary  enemy  than  Blonay,  hav 
ing  a  similar  pursuit,  could  not  have  forborne.  The  temptation 
was  a  trying  one  to  him  ;  but,  when  he  looked  about  in  the  woods 
around  him,  and  saw  how  easily  they  might  be  penetrated  by 
the  survivers,  even  if  he  shot  Humphries,  he  felt  convinced 
that  the  death  of  his  enemy  would  be  the  immediafe  signal 
for  his  own.  His  revenge  was  too  much  a  matter  of  calcula 
tion —  too  systematic  in  all  its  impulses  —  to  permit  him  to  do 
an  act  so  manifestly  disparaging  his  Indian  blood,  and  his  own 
desire  for  life,  and  his  habitual  caution.  The  cover  in  which 
he  stood,  though  complete  enough  for  his  concealment  while  it 
remained  unsuspected,  was  otherwise  no  shelter;  and,  subduing 
his  desire,  he  quietly  and  breathlessly  kept  his  position,  till  his 
ears  no  longer  distinguished  the  tramp  of  their  departing  horses. 

It  was  then  that  the  half-breed  rose  from  his  place  of  shelter. 
Gliding  back  to  the  deeper  recess  where  his  pony  had  been 
hidden,  he  was  soon  mounted,  and  prepared  to  take  the  track 
after  his  enemy. 

•'  He's  gone  to  place  the  sentries  and  send  out  the  scouts 
He  won't  have  'em  with  him  by  the  time,  he  gits  to  the  swamp 


THE    COLD    THAIL.  DO! 

mid  I'll  take  the  short  track  at  the  bend  and  git  there  before 
him.     Adrat  it,  that  I  should  have  missed  him  as  I  did  !" 

Thus  muttering,  he  left  the  woods,  and  was  soon  pacing,  with 
the  utmost  caution,  upon  ihe  road  which  had  been  taken  bv 
his  enemy. 

Marking  his  time  duly,  and  heedful  of  every  object  upon  iho. 
road,  our  friend  "Witherspoon  might  have  been  seen,  a  little 
while  after,  going  over  the  same  ground  with  no  little  solemnity; 
II 3  had  carefully  noted  the  several  tracks  made  by  the  horse 
of  Humphries,  along  with  those  of  his  companions,  and,  step 
by  step,  had  kept  on  their  trail  until  he  reached  the  spot  at 
which,  emerging  from  the  place  of  his  concealment,  the  way 
laying  Blonay  had  set  off  also  in  pursuit.  The  observant  eye 
of  Witherspoon,  accustomed  to  note  every  sign  of  this  descrip 
tion,  soon  detected  the  track  made  by  the  hoof  of  the  animal 
which  Blonay  bestrode.  He  alighted  from  his  horse,  and  care 
fully  examined  it;  then,  entering  the  woods  on  that  side  from 
which  the  pony  had  evidently  emerged,  he  traced  out  the 
course  of  the  half-breed  by  the  crushed  grass  and  disordered 
foliage,  until  he  found,  not  only  where  the  pony  had  been  kept, 
but  tho  very  branch  to  which  he  had  been  tethered  The 
brancli  was  broken  at  the  end,  and  the  bridle,  having  been 
passed  over  it,  by  its  friction,  had  chafed  a  little  ring  around 
the  b.ark.  From  this  spot  he  passed  to  that  in  which  Blonay 
himself  had  been  hidden  on  the  roadside  when  Humphries  had 
ridden  by.  His  exclamation,  as  he  made  this  discovery,  was 
natural  and  involuntary  — 

"  Gimini,  if  Bill  had  only  know'd  it,  how  he  could  have  wound 
up  the  animal!  Only  to  think  —  here  he  squatted,  not  twenty 
steps  off,  and  a  single  leap  of  a  good  nag  would  ha'  put  a  hoof 
on  each  of  his  shoulders  !  But  it  ain't  all  a  clear  track  for 
him  yet.  Push  is  the  word  ;  and,  if  he  don't  keep  wide  awake, 
he'll  larn  more  in  the  next  two  hours  than  he'll  ever  understand 
in  a  week  after.  Come,  Button,  we'll  know  this  place  next 
time  in  case  we  have  to  look  after  the  Indian  agen." 

He  resumed  his  course,  and  with  something  more  of  rapidity, 
as  he  now  discovered  that  the  game  was  fairly  afoot.  The 
track  was  distinctly  defined  for  him ;  and,  wherever  the  foot 


CJ03  MKLLICHAMPE. 

of  Humphries'  horse  had  been  set  down,  there,  with  unerring 
crtnmty,  immediately  behind,  was  tliat  of  the  pony.  Excited 
oy  the  prospect  of  the  encounter  which  lie  now  promised  him 
self,  he  began  unconsciously  to  accelerate  the  movements  of 
his  horse,  until  he  gained  rapidly,  without  knowing  it  himself, 
upon  the  footsteps  of  the  rider  he  pursued. 

Blonay  had  not,  however,  laid  aside  his  habitual  wariness, 
and  the  precipitancy  of  Witherspoon  betrayed  his  approach 
to  the  watchful  senses  of  the  half-breed.  He  had  himself 
gained  so  much  upon  Humphries  as  to  hear  the  sound  of  his 
horse's  tread,  and  his  quick  ear  soon  detected  the  correspond 
ing  sound  from  the  feet  of  Witherspoon's  horse  in  the  rear. 
He  paused  instantly,  until  assured  that  his  senses  had  not  de 
ceived  him,  and  silently  then  he  elided  into  the  bushes  on  one 
side  of  the  road,  availing  himself  of  a  deep  thicket  which 
spread  along  to  the  right.  Nor,  having  done  this,  did  he  pause 
in  a  single  spot  and  simply  seek  concealment.  He  took  a 
backward  course  for  a  hundred  yards  or  more,  and  awaited 
there  in  shelter,  watching  a  single  opening  upon  the  road, 
which  he  knew  must  be  darkened  by  the  figure  of  the  ap 
proaching  person. 

Witherspoon  rode  on,  passed  the  designated  spot,  and  was 
recognised  by  the  outlier.  But,  as  it  was  not  the  policy  of 
Blonay  to  be  discovered  now  by  any,  he  did  not  come  forth  and 
remind  our  friend  of  their  former  meeting  on  the  highway.  The 
partisan  kept  on  his  way  until  he  missed  the  track  of  the  pony. 
There  was  that  of  Humphries  plainly  enough  ;  but  that  of  the 
pony  was  no  longer  perceptible.  He  checked  his  own  steed, 
and  rebuked  himself  for  his  want  of  caution.  He  saw  that  he 
must  now  change  his  game ;  and,  and  without  stopping  to 
make  an  examination  which  might  startle  Blonay  into  suspi 
cion —  for  he  knew  not  but  that  the  half-breed  was  even 
then  looking  down  upon  him  from  some  place  of  safe  conceal 
ment — he  rode  on  a  short  distance  farther,  and  then  sank,  liko 
Blonay,  into  the  cover  of  the  very  same  woods,  though  on  the 
side  opposite  to  that  which  had  given  shelter  to  the  latter. 
Here  lie  dismounted,  hid  his  horse  in  a  recess  sufficiently  far 
in  the  rear  to  prevent  any  sounds  which  he  might  utter  from 


THE    COLD    TRAIL.  369 

reaching  tiny  ear  upon  the  road,  and,  advancing  to  a  point 
sufficiently  nigh  to  command  a  view  of  passing  objects,  sought 
a  place  of  concealment  and  watch  for  himself.  This  he  soon 
found,  and,  like  a  practised  scout,  he  patiently  concentrated 
all  his  faculties  upon  the'  task  he  had  undertaken,  and,  with 
all  the  energies  of  his  mind,  not  less  than  of  his  hody,  prepared 
for  the  leap  which  he  might  be  required  to  take,  he  lay  crouch 
ing  in  momentary  expectation  of  his  prey. 

Here  he  waited  patiently,  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour, 
in  the  hope  of  seeing  the  pursuer  go  by.  But  he  waited  in 
vain:  the  road  remained  undarkened  by  a  solitary  shadow  — 
his  ears  were  unassailed  by  a  solitary  sound.  The  half- 
breed  well  knew  what  he  was  about.  Familiar  with  the 
course  usually  taken  by  Humphries,  he  did  not  now  care  to 
tread  directly  upon  his  footsteps,  particularly  as  such  a  progress 
must  have  placed  him  upon  the  same  road  with  that  taken 
by  the  stranger,  whose  unlooked-for  coming  had  driven  him 
into  shelter.  It  was  enough  that  he  could  reach,  a  mile 
above,  the  narrow  track  which,  darting  aside  from  the  main 
road,  led  obliquely  into  the  swamp.  There  he  knew  he  should 
again  come  upon  the  track  of  Humphries,  and  with  that  hope 
lie  was  satisfied.  Keeping  the  woods,  therefore,  on  the  side 
\\hich  he  had  entered,  he  stole  along  among  the  shadows  of 
the  silent  pines  sufficiently  far  to  be  both  unseen  and  unheard 
by  fliose  upon  the  road  ;  and  while  the  scout  lay  snugly 
watching  for  him  in  the  bush,  the  subtle  half-breed  had  gone 
ahead  of  him,  and  was  now  somewhat  in  advance,  though  still 
moving  slowly  between  him  and  Humphries.  Witherspoon 
was  soon  convinced  that  this  must  be  the  case,  and,  throwing 
aside  his  sluggishness,  he  prepared  to  resume  his  progress. 

"  The  skunk  will  double  round  us  after  all,"  he  muttered  to 
himself,  "  if  I  don't  keep  a  better  lookout.  But  he  sha'n't. 
There's  only  one  way.  It  won't  do  to  go  on  sich  a  trail  on 
the  back  of  a  nag  that  puts  down  his  foot  like  an  elephant. 
Shank's  mare  is  the  only  nag  for  this  hunt,  and  you  must  keep 
quiet  where  you  are,  Button,  till  I  get  back.  I  can  do  well 
enough  for  a  while  without  you,  and  you  must  be  reasonable, 
and  be  quiet,  too." 


370  MELLICHAMPB. 

Thus  addressing  his  horse,  he  tightened  the  rope  which 
fastened  him  to  the  tree,  and  prepared  to  continue  the 
pursuit  on  foot. 

"  I  can  walk  jist  as  fast  as  that  'ere  pony  can  trot,  at 
any  time,  and  the  skunk  that  straddles  him  is  too  cunning 
to  go  fast  now.  I  can  outwalk  him,  I  know;  and  if  he 
could  hear  Button's  big  foot,  it's  more  than  his  ears  can 
do  to  hear  mine." 

Tims  reasoning,  the  scout  left  his  steed,  pressed  forward 
upon  the*highway,  and,  with  rapid  strides,  pushed  for  the 
recovery  of  lost  ground. 

Blonay,  meanwhile,  had  gained  a  sight  of  the  person  he 
pursued.  Humphries  had  lingered  behind  with  this  very 
object.  As  soon  as  the  half-breed  heard  the  sounds  of 
feet  above  him,  and  so  near  the  swamp,  he  sank  into  the 
deepest  cover  and  began  to  prepare  himself.  He  first 
alighted  from  his  pony,  which  he  led  as  far  into  the 
shelter  of  the  woods  as  seemed  advisable.  His  own  con 
cealment  was  more  easily  effected  while  on  foot  than  when 
mounted,  and  the  proximity  of  his  enemy  rendered  every 
precaution  necessary.  The  sudden  rush  of  a  fleet  steed, 
like  that  bestrode  by  Humphries,  would  have  brought  the 
latter  upon  him  long  before  he  could  conceal  himself,  if 
he  happened  to  be  mounted  at  the  time.  On  foot  he 
pressed  forward  until  he  beheld  the  three  and  distin 
guished  their  movements.  Humphries  was  in  the  rear, 
Davis  and  Frampton  were  about  to  enter  the  swamp,  and, 
indeed,  had  already  done  so. 

It  was  then  that  Blonay  urged  the  pursuit  most  rapidly; 
and,  with  rifle  ready  to  be  lifted  to  his  shoulder  the 
moment  the  opportunity  should  offer  for  its  use,  he 
leaped  cautiously,  in  a  circuitous  route,  .from  cover  to 
cover,  and  in  the  greatest  silence,  in  order  to  secure 
a  position  which  might  command  the  pond,  through 
which  he  well  knew  the  partisans  must  go  before 
entering  the  swamp.  He  was  the  more  stimulated  in 
this  object,  as  he  thought  it  not  improbable  that,  as  the 
companions  of  Humphries  were  ahead  of  him,  they  might 
go  so  far  forward  as  to  throw  the  entire  length  of  the  pond, 
and  the  intervening  thicket  (which,  thrusting  itself  up  from 
one  side  of  it,  and  running  far  out  into  its  centre,  almost  en- 


THE    COLD    TRATL.  371 

tirely  concealed  its  opposite  termination),  between  themselves 
and  the  enemy  he  pursued,  If  this  hnd  been  the  case,  bis 
opportunity  to  shoot  down  Humphries,  and  make  his  escape 
before  the  other  two  could  possibly  return,  would  be  complete. 

All  these  conjectures  and  calculations  were  instantaneous, 
and  the  result  of  his  natural  instinct.  The  image  of  his  suc 
cess  rose  vividly  before  him  as  he  pressed  forward  to  secure  n 
fair  shot  at  the  figure  of  which  he  momently  caught  glimpses 
through  the  foliage;  and,  but  for  the  heedful  thought  of 
Humphries  —  with  whom  the  present  was  the  life  and  thought- 
absorbing  affair  —  the  opportunity  might  have  been  Avon  by 
the  vindictive  pursuer  who  desired  it.  The  partisan  was  suf 
ficiently  observant,  however,  of  all  these  chances.  He  knew 
not  that  his  enemy  was  at  hand,  and,  indeed,  did  not  think  it; 
but  he  omitted  no  precaution,  and  clung  close  to  his  compan 
ions.  They  moved  forward  together  into  the  pond  ;  and  when 
Blonay  reached  the  edge  of  it,  they  had  emerged  through  its 
waters,  and,  gaining  the  opposite  side,  were  out  of  his  reach 
and  sight,  and  in  safety  for  the  present. 

Blonay  was  a  patient  enemy  —  no  less  patient  than  perse 
vering.  He  sank  back  into  cover,  and  prepared  to  wait,  as  he 
had  often  done  before,  for  the  return  of  his  victim. 

"He  goes  to  place  his  scouts  —  he  will  comeback  alone," 
were  the  muttered  words  of  the  half-breed  ;  and,  unconscious 
that'  he  himself  was  an  object  of  as  close  a  watch  as  that 
which  he  maintained  on  Humphries,  he  coolly  sought  his  place 
of  rest  behind  a  little  clump  of  cane  and  a  thicket  of  close 
brier,  which  formed  much  of  the  undergrowth  among  the 
gigantic  cypresses  spreading  around  him,  and  formed  no  unfit 
ting  fringe  for  the  edge  of  tha  swamp. 

Meanwhile,  Witherspoon  had  not  been  idle  or  unobservant. 
He  had  pushed  forward  after  Blonay  with  precautions  similar 
to  those  which  the  latter  had  practised  ;  and,  with  a  speed 
accelerated  in  accordance  with  the  due  increase  of  confidence 
arising  from  the  absence  of  his  horse,  he  had  contrived  to  gain 
a  point  of  observation  which  commanded  the  entrance  to  th« 
swamp  qi.ite  as  soon  as  Blonay,  and  just  when  Humphries  ar.d 
his  companion?)  were  about  to  pass  into  the  pond.  At  6rf?t 


872  MEL  LIC  HAM  I1 1-;. 

he  saw  none  but  the  three  companions;  but.,  even  while  he 
gazed  upon  them  from  a  place  of  shelter  by  the  wayside,  and 
jit  the  distance  of  a  few  hundred  yards,  he  became  conscious, 
though  yet  without  seeing  the  object,  of  the  approach  of  soi^e 
one  on  the  opposite  hand.  The  three  disappeared  from  hi.-, 
sight,  and,  as  the  last  sounds  reached  hie  ears  of  the  tread  of 
their  horses  as  they  plashed  through  the  turbid  waters  of  ii. 
creek,  he  distinctly  beheld  the  person  of  a  man  moving  lutr- 
riedly  along  its  margin.  In  the  next  glance  he  saw  that  i: 
was  the  half-breed. 

"I  have  him  —  here's  at  you!"  he  cried  to  himself,  as  he 
raised  his  rifle.  But,  before  he  could  pull  trigger,  his  victim 
had  disappeared. 

Vexed  and  mortified,  he  was  compelled  to  squat  down  in 
quiet  in  order  to  avoid  being  seen  ;  and,  hiding  himself  closely 
behind  a  bush,  he  waited  and  watched  for  a  second  opportu 
nity.  But  this  he  was  not  destined  to  get  so  readily.  While 
he  looked  he  saw  the  whole  line  of  canebrake,  on  the  edge  of 
the  lagune,  slightly  agitated  and  waving  at  the  tops  as  if 
under  a  sudden  gust,  but  ho  saw  no  more  of  the  person  he  pur 
sued.  In  a  little  while  he  heard  the  feet  of  the  returning 
horses  once  more  plunging  through  the  pond  ;  and  again  did 
he  see  the  cane-tops  waving  suddenly  in  front  of  a  grove  of 
huge  cypresses,  and  as  suddenly  again  subsiding  into  repose. 
Witherspoon  could  see  no  more  of  the  enemy,  and,  half  bewil 
dered,  he  awaited  the  return  of  Humphries,  to  unfold  to  him 
what  he  knew  and  how  he  had  been  disappointed. 

Blonay,  meanwhile,  though  maintaining  a  solicitous  regard 
to  his  own  concealment,  kept  a  no  less  heedful  watch  upon  the 
progress  of  his  enemy.  He  looked  out  from  his  cover  upon 
the  return  of  Humphries  ;  but,  as  he  continued  to  be  still  accon; 
panied  by  Davis  and  Frampton,  there  was  evidently  no  oppor 
tunity  for  prosecuting  his  purpose.  He  sank  back  in  silence 
to  his  place  of  shelter  among  the  canes  and  cypresses. 

Witherspoon  had  again  noted  the  disturbance  among  the 
cane-tops,  but  he  failed  to  see  the  intruder.  It  was  with  no 
smail  mortification  that  he  unfolded  to  Humphries,  as  he  came, 
the  unsuccessful  results  of  his  watch. 


THE    COLD    TRAIL. 


373 


"lie  is  there,  somewhere  among  the  canes;  but,  d — n  the 
nigger,  you  might  as  well  look  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack  as 
after  him  in  such  a  place  as  that." 

"But  we  will  look  for  .him  there!"  cried  Humphries,  dash 
ing  forward  to  the  designated  region.  The  rest  followed  him 
in  several  directions,  completely  encircling  in  their  hunt  the 
supposed  place  of  Blonay's  concealment. 

He  looked  upon  their  search  in  composure  and  with  scornful 
indifference;  but  he  remained  quiet  all  the  while.  They 
hunted  him  with  all  the  passion  of  hatred,  disappointment,  and 
anxiety.  They  penetrated  through  brake  and  through  brier; 
they  tore  aside  the  thickly-wedged  masses  of  cane-twigs  an.l 
saplings;  traversed  bog  and  water;  pressed  through  bushes; 
and  encircled  trees  —  searching  narrowly  every  spot  and  ob 
ject,  in  the  locality  designated  by  Witherspoon,  which  might 
conceal  a  man  :  but  they  labored  in  vain,  -'hey  did  not  find 
the  fugitive.  Yet  his  traces  everywhere  met  their  eyes.  His 
footsteps  were  plainly  perceptible  on  one  or  two  miry  banks ; 
but  the  whole  neighborhood  was  half-covered  with  water,  and 
the  traces  which  he  made  were  accordingly  soon  lost.  For 
more  than  an  hour  did  they  continue  the  search,  until  they 
wandered  from  the  spot  entirely.  The  quest  was  hopeless; 
*nd,  vexed  at  his  disappointment,  Humphries  was  compelled 
to  give  up  the  pursuit  in  the  performance  of  other  duties. 
They  had  scarcely  left  the  ground,  however,  before  Blcnay 
came  forth  from  his  place  of  concealment  —  the  body  of  a  hol 
low  cypress,  divided  from  the  canebrake  by  a  narrow  creek, 
in  a  portion  of  which  it  grew. 

"  Adrat  it !  they  thought  to  catch  a  weasel  asleep,  did  they  ? 
I  reckon  it  won't  do  this  time.  And  now,  I  s'pose — " 

The  words  were  interrupted,  and  the  soliloquy  discontinue,!'. 
The  fugitive  stooped  to  the  earth  as  if  to  listen,  then  imics- 
diately  hurried  back  through  the  shallow  water,  and  into  foe 
tree  where  he  had  previously  hidden  himself. 


874 


MKLIJCIIAMl'E. 


CHAPTER   XLV. 

HUMPHRIES    TitKES    THE     HALF-HREED. 

HE  liad  barely  attained  his  place  of  shelter  when  Hum 
phries  returned.  He  returned  alone.  He  had  dismissed  hi? 
comrades  as  no  longer  essential  to  his  search,  and  bad  deter- 
iiKiied  upon  stealing  back  to  the  neighborhood  where  the  half 
breed  had  been  last  seen,  placing  himself  in  a  position  to 
watch  him,  and  l;r  ^ring  till  the  latest  possible  moment,  in  the 
hope  to  see  him  emerge.  The  thoughts  of  Humphries  were  of 
the  most  annoying  description.  He  reflected  bitterly  on  the 
chances  now  before  him,  not  only  of  his  enemy's  escape,  but 
of  his  own  continued  danger.  The  whole  labor  of  pursuit 
and  stratagem  was  again  to  be  taken  over;  and  with  this  dis 
advantage,  that,  as  they  had  now  alarmed  the  half-breed,  who 
must  have  been  conscious  of  their  recent  pursuit  and  search,  if 
would  be  necessary  to  adopt  some  new  plan  of  action,  and 
contrive  some  new  scheme,  before  they  could  possibly  hope  tc 
entrap  him.  In  the  meantime,  to  what  danger  was  his  threat 
ened  victim  not  exposed,  since,  while  effecting  nothing  toward 
his  own  security,  the  recent  adventure  must  only  contribute  to 
tiie  increased  wariness  of  his  enemy 

Full  of  these  bitter  and  distracting  thoughts,  he  took  post 
upon  a  little  hillock,  which  rose  slightly  above  the  miry  ,snr- 
f&*s3  which  spread  all  around  him.  A  huge  cypress,  rising  up 
.from  a  shallow  creek,  stood  like  a  forest  monarch  directly 
before  his  eyes.  The  cane,  in  which  he  had  pursued  so  hope 
less  a  search,  spread  away  in  a  winding  line  beyond  the 
creek,  and  upon  its  slightly-waving  surface  his  eyes  were  fixed 
in  intense  survey. 

"  It  was  there  —  there  he  must  be  still,"  he  said  to  himself, 


HUMPHRIES  TREES  THE   HALF-BREED.  375 

as  he  looked  upon  its  dense  inclosure.  e '  He  will  come  out 
directly,  when  he  thinks  me  quite  gone,  and  when  he  can 
hear  nothing.  I  will  wait  for  him,  though  I  wait  till  sun 
set." 

He  had  taken  a  place  of  watch  which  gave  him  a  full 
view  of  the  Cc^nebrake  and  the  scattered  cypresses  before 
it,  while  his  position  was  concealed  at  the  same  time,  by  a 
cluster  of  bushes,  from  any  one  emerging  from  the  region 
he  surveyed.  Here,  squatting  low,  he  prepared  his  rifle, 
having  carefully  prepared  an  opening  for  it  through  the 
bushes,  whence'  its  muzzle  might  be  projected  at  a  mo 
ment's  warning;  and,  with  eyes  sharpened  by  a  feeling  of 
anxiety  little  short  of  desperation,  he  lay  quietly,  the 
agent  of  a  deadly  hate  and  a  shuddering  fear,  watchful 
for  that  opportunity  which  should  gratify  the  one  passion, 
and  silence  all  the  apprehensions  of  the  other. 

While  he  watched  in  quiet,  he  heard  a  slight  noise 
immediately  at  hand.  Something  reached  his  ears  like 
the  friction  of  bark.  His  breathings  became  suppressed 
in  the  intenseness  of  his  anxiety.  He  felt  that  his  enemy 
was  near  him,  and  his  hope  grew  into  a  gnawing  appetite, 
which  made  his  whole  frame  tremble  in  the  nervous  de 
sire  which  it  occasioned.  The  noise  was  repeated  a  little 
more  distinctly — distinctly  enough,  indeed,  to  indicate  the 
direction  from  which  it  came.  His  glance  rested  upon  the 
aged  cypress  which  stood  immediately  before  him. 

'"  Could  he  be  there?"  was  his  self-made  inquiry.  The 
tree  stood  in  the  water.  The  hollow  did  not  seem  large 
enough  above  the  creek  to  admit  the  passage  of  a  human 
body.  "Yet  it  might  be  so."  He  regretted,  while  he 
gazed,  that  they  had  not  examined  it;  and  he  regretted 
this  the  more  as  he  now  saw  that  the  upper  edges  of  the 
hollow  above  the  creek  were  still  wefc,  as  if  they  had  been 
splashed  by  the  hurried  passage  of  some  large  body  into 
the  tree,  lie  kept  quiet,  however,  while  these  thoughts 
were  going  through  his  mind,  and  determined  patiently 
to  wait  events. 

"  He  must  come  out  at  last/'  was  his  muttered  thought, 
"if  he  is  there,  and  I  can  wait,  I  reckon,  jist  as  long  as 
he." 

Was  it  instinct  that  told  him  to  raise  his  eyes  at  this  mo 
ment,  from  the  hollow  at  the  foot  of  the  cypress  to  the  shaft 


376  MKLL1CIIAMPE. 

of  the  tree,  as  it  stretched  away  above  ?  lie  did  so  ;  and,  ir* 
the  sudden  glance  which  he  gave,  the  glare  of  a  wide  and 
well-known  eye  met  his  own,  staring  around,  from  a  narrow 
and  natural  fissure  in  the  stupendous  column  some  ten  feet 
from  its  base.  With  a  howl  of  positive  delight  he  sprang  to 
his  feet,  and  the  drop  of  the  deadly  instrument  fell  upon  the 
aperture.  But,  before  he  could  spring  the  lock  or  draw  the 
trigger,  the  object  had  disappeared. 

The  half-breed,  for  it  was  he,  had  sunk  down  the  moment 
Humphries  met  his  eye,  and  was  no  more  to  be  seen.  But  lie 
was  there!  That  was  the  consolation  of  his  enemy. 

"  He  is  there,  I  have  him  !"  he  cried  aloud.  No  answer 
reached  him  from  within.  Humphries  bounded  into  the  water 
to  the  hollow  at  the  bottom  of  the  tree,  through  which  the 
slender  form  of  Blonay  had  resolutely  compressed  itself.  He 
thrust  his  hand  into  the  opening,  and  endeavored,  by  grasping 
the  legs  of  the  half-breed,  to  drag  him  down  to  *he  aperture, 
but  he  failed  entirely  to  do  so.  A  bulging  excrescence  on  the 
tree,  a  knob  or  knee,  as  it  is  called,  within,  served  the  be 
leaguered  man  as  a  place  of  rest;  and  upon  this,  firmly 
planting  his  feet,  no  effort  of  his  enemy  could  possibly  dis 
lodge  him.  To  thrust  his  rifle  up  the  hollow,  and  .shoot  as  he 
stood,  was  the  next  thought  of  Humphries  ;  but  the  first  at 
tempt  to  do  this  convinced  him  of  the  utter  impracticability 
of  the  design.  The  opening,  though  sufficiently  large  for  the 
entrance  of  a  body  so  flexible  as  that  of  a  man,  was  yet 
too  short  to  admit  of  the  passage  of  a  straight,  unyielding 
shaft  of  the  rifle's  length,  unless  hy  burying  the  instrument 
in  the  water  to  a  depth  so  great  as  would  bring  the  lock 
much  below  it.  The  difficulty  was  a  novel  one,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  the  practised  woodman  was  at  fault.  What  was  he  to 
do  1  His  enemy  was  within  his  reach,  yet  beyond  his  control, 
and  might  as  well  be  a  thousand  miles  off.  To  leave  the 
tree,  to  go  in  search  of  his  companions,  or  to  procure  an  axe 
to  fell  it,  would  only  be  to  afford  an  opportunity  for  the 
egress  and  escape  of  his  victim.  This  was  not  to  be  thought 
upon.  He  seized  his  knife,  and  though  assured  that  by  its 
use  he  could  do  no  more  than  annoy  the  half-breed,  situated 


HUMPHRIES    TREKS    THE    HALF-BREED.  -j  <  7 

where  he  was,  and  could  by  no  possibility  inflict  a  vital  injury, 
he  yet  proceeded  to  employ  it. 

"It  may  bring-  him  out,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  it'll  vex 
and  bring  him  out." 

He  thrust  the  weapon  up  the  hollow,  and  struck  right  raid 
left  at  the  feet  and  ankles  of  the  inmate.  But  with  the  first 
graze  of  the  weapon  upon  his  legs  Blonay  drew  them  up 
contracting  his  knees,  an  effort  which  the  immense  size  of 
the  tree,  the  hollow  of  which  might  have  contained  three  men 
with  ease,  readily  enabled  him  to  make.  Humphries  soon  saw 
the  fruitlessness  of  his  effort  with  the  knife,  and,  seemingly. 
the  fruitlessness  of  any  effort  which  he  could  then  make. 
In  his  rage,  exasperated  at  the  vicinity  of  his  foe,  yet  of 
his  seeming  safety,  he  shouted  aloud,  in  the  hope  to  bring 
back  his  departed  companions.  A  fiendish  chuckle  sounded 
scornfully  from  within  the  tree,  and  seemed  to  taunt  him  with 
his  feebleness  and  fury.  He  renewed  his  efforts,  he  struck 
idly  with  his  knife  within  the  hollow,  until,  burying  the  blade 
in  one  of  the  projecting  knobs,  it  snapped  off  short  at  the 
handle,  and  was  of  no  more  service.  Furious  at  these  re-  I 
peated  failures,  and  almost  exhausted  by  his  efforts,  he  poured  s 
forth  curses  and  denunciations  in  the  utmost  profusion  upon 
the  unheeding  and  seemingly  indifferent  half-breed. 

"  Come  out   like   a  man,"  he  cried  to   him,  in  an  idle  chal 
lenge  ;  "  come   out  and    meet    your   enemy,  and  not,  like  a  - 
snake,  crawl  into  your  hollow,  and  lie  in  waiting  for  his  Led. 
Come  out,  you  skunk,  and  you  shall  have  a  fair  fight,  and 
nobody  shall  come  between  us.     "Sou  shall  have  your  distance 
jist  as  you  want  it,    and    it    shall    be  the  quickest  fire  that 
shall  make  the  difference  of  chances  between  us.     Come  out,    , 
you  spawn  of  a  nigger,  and  face  me,  if  you're  a  rnari." 

Thus  did  he  run  on  in  his  ineffectual  fury,  and  inipotentiy 
challenge  an  enemy  who  was  quite  too  wary  to  give  *up  the 
vantage-ground  which  he  possessed.  The  same  fiendish 
chuckle  which  had  enraged  the  trooper  so  much  before,  again 
responded  to  his  challenge  from  the  tree,  again  stimulated 
him  to  newer  efforts,  which,  like  the  past,  were  unavailing. 
The  half-breed  condescended  no  other  reply.  He  gave  no 


<:><s  MKLLICHAMl'K. 

response  whatsoever  to  the  denunciations  of  his  enemy  , 
but,  coolly  turning  himself  occasionally  in  his  S])acious  sheath, 
he  now  and  then  raised  himself  slightly  upon  his  perch,  and 
placing  his  mouth  abreast  of  the  upper  aperture  in  the  tree, 
gratified  himself  by  an  occasional  inhalation  of  the  fresh 
ttir — a  commodity  not  so  readily  afforded  by  his  limited  JIG 
commodations. 

Humphries,  meanwhile,  almost  exhausted  by  his  own  fury 
not  less  than  by  its  hopeless  labors,  had  thrown  himself  upo- 
the  bank  in  front  of  the  opening,  watching  it  with  the  avid 
ity  of  an  eagle.  But  Blonay  gave  him  no  second  chance  for 
a  shot  while  he  lay  in  this  position.  He  watched  in  vain. 
Even  as  he  lay,  however,  a  new  plan  suggested  itself  to 
his  mind,  and  one  so  certain  of  its  effect,  that  he  cursed 
himself  for  his  stupidity  that  did  not  suffer  him  to  think  of  it 
before.  With  the  thought,  he  started  to  his  feet.  Detached 
masses  of  old  decaying  trees,  the  remains  of  many  a  forest, 
of  preceding  ages,  lay  scattered  around  him.  Here  and  there 
a  lightwood  knot,  and  here  and  there  the  yet  un decayed 
branch,  the  tribute  of  some  still  living  pine,  to  the  passing 
hurricane,  lay  contiguously  at  hand.  He  gathered  them  up 
with  impetuous  rapidity.  He  collected  a  pile  at  the  foot  of 
the  cypress,  and  prepared  himself  for  the  new  experiment. 
Selecting  from  this  pile  one  of  the  largest  logs,  he  thrust  it 
.through  the  water,  and  into  the  hollow  of  the  tree,  seeking 
to  wedge  it  between  the  inner  knobs  on  which  the  feet  of 
Bl.may  were  evidently  resting.  But  the  half-breed  soon  be- 
eame  aware  of  the  new  design,  which  he  opposed,  as  well  as 
he  could,  with  a  desperate  effort.  He  saw,  and  was  instantly 
conscious  of,  his  danger.  With  his  feet  he  baffled  for  a  long 
time  the  efforts  of  his  enemy,  until,  enraged  at  length,  Hum 
phries  seized  upon  a  jagged  knot  of  lightwood,  which  he 
thrust  against  one  of  the  striving  legs  of  the  half-breed,  and  em 
ploying  another  heavy  knot  as  a  mallet,  he  drove  the  wedge 
forward  unrelentingly  against  the  yielding  flesh,  which  was 
torn  and  lacerated  dreadfully  by  the  sharp  edges  of  the  wood. 
Under  the  sudden  pain  of  the  wound,  the  feet  were  drawn 
up,  and  the  woodman  was  suffered  to  proceed  in  his  design 


IICMPHKIKS    TKKKS    TIIK    HALF-BBKKI).  d  I  U 

The  miserable  wretch  in  the  tree,  thus  doomed  to  be  b.iried 
alive,  was  now  willing  to  come  to  terms  with  his  enemy.  His 
voice  hollowly  reached  the  ears  of  his  exulting  captor,  as  he 
agreed  to  accept  his  terms^of  fight,  if  he  would  suffer  him 
to  come  down.  But  the  reply  of  Humphries  partook  some 
what  of  the  savage  nature  of  his  victim. 

"No,  no  !  you  d  —  d  skunk,  you  shall  die  in  your  hole,  like 
a  varmint  as  you  are  ;  and  the  cypress  shall  be  your  coffin, 
as  it  has  been  your  house." 

The  voice  within  muttered  something  of  light. 

"  It's  too  late  for  that,'*  was  the  reply.  "  I  gave  you  the 
chance  once,  and  you  wouldn't  take  it.  It's  the  worse  for 
you,  vsince  .you  don't  get  another.  Here  you  shall  stay,  if 
hard  chunks  and  solid  lightwood  can  keep  you,  until  your  yel 
low  flesh  rots  away  from  your  cursed  bones  !  Here  you  stay 
till  the  lightning  rips  open  your  coffin,  or  the  hurricane  in  Sep 
tember  tumbles  you  into  the  swamp." 

The  voice  of  Blonay  was  still  heard,  though  more  and  more 
feebly,  as  the  hard  wood  was  driven  into  the  hollow  —  mass 
wedging  mass  —  until  all  sounds  from  within,  whether  of  plead 
ing  or  defiance,  seemed  to  die  away  into  a  plaintive  murmur, 
that  came  faintly  through  the  thickening  barrier,  and  was 
almost  unheard  by  Humphries,  as,  with  the  knotty  lever 
which  he  employed,  he  sent  the  heavy  wedges,  already  firm 
enough,  more  thoroughly  into  the  bosom  of  the  tree. 

His  labor  was  at  length  completed.  The  victim  was  fas 
tened  up  securely,  beyond  his  own  efforts  of  escape.  He 
was  effectually  sealed  up,  and  the  seal  could,  only  be  taken 
off  by  a  strong  hand  from  without.  Where,  in  that  deep  forest 
recess,  wild  and  tangled,  could  succor  find  him  out?  What 
hope  that  his  feeble  voice  could  reach  the  ears  of  any  pas 
sing  mortal  !  Tnere  was  no  hope  but  in  the  mercy  of  his 
enemy,  and  of  that  the  captive  and  doomed  man  could  have 
no  hope,  even  if  ne  pleaded  for  his  life  —  an  idea  that  never 
once  entered  into  ms  mind. 

His  doom  was  written,  and  the  partisan  paused  before  the 
tree,  and  his  eye  rested  on  the  aperture  above.  The  body 
**'  the  imprisoned  man  was  heard  to  writhe  about  in  hio 


380  MKLL1CHAMPE. 

cell.  Humphries  stepped  back,  tlie  better  to  survey  the  apcr 
ture.  In  another  moment  he  beheld  the  blear  eyes  of  his  vic 
tim  peering  forth  upon  him,  and,  firm  and  fearless  as  he  was, 
he  shuddered  at  their  expression.  Their  natural  ugliness  wns 
enlarged  and  exaggerated  by  the  intensity  of  his  despair. 
Before,  they  had  been  but  disgusting  —  they  were  now  frightful 
to  the  beholder.  As  he  looked  upon  him,  the  first  feeling  of 
Humphries  was  to  lift  his  rifle  and  shoot  him  ;  but,  as  the 
weapon  was  elevated,  he  saw  that  the  half-breed  no  longer 
shrank  from  the  meditated  shot.  On  the  contrary,  he  seemed 
now  rather  to  invoke  his  death,  as  even  a  mercy  in  that  prefer 
able  form,  at  the  hands  of  his  enemy.  But  his  desire  was  not 
complied  with. 

"  No,  no.  Why  should  I  waste  the  bullet  upon  you  ?  You 
took  to  the  hollow  like  a  beast.  You  shall  die  like  one.  It's 
a  fit  death  for  one  like  you.  You've  been  hunting  after  my 
blood  quite  too  long.  I  won't  spill  yours,  but  I'll  leave  it  to  dry 
up  in  your  heart,  and  you  shall  feel  it  freezing  and  drying 
up  all  the  time." 

He  surveyed  his  victim  as  he  spoke  with  a  malicious  joy, 
which  at  length  grew  into  a  painful  sort  of  delight,  it  was  so 
intense  —  so  maddening  —  so  strange,  since  it  followed  a  tran 
sition  from  the  extremest  sense  of  appreciation  to  one  of  un 
looked-for  security.  His  ecstasies  at  length  broke  forth  into 
tumultuous  and  unmitigated  laughter. 

The  deportment  of  the  half-breed  was  changed.  His  fea 
tures  seemed  to  undergo  elevation,  and  the  utter  hopelessness 
of  his  fate,  as  he  now  beheld  it,  even  gave  dignity  to  their  ex 
pression.  He  spoke  to  his  enemy  in  language  of  the  most  bit- 
kug  asperity.  His  sarcasm  was  coarse,  but  effective,  as  it  ac 
corded  with  his  own  nature  and  the  education  of  his  foe.  He 
taunted  him  with  cowardice,  with  every  meanness,  and  strove 
to  irritate  him  by  reproaches  of  himself  and  his  connections, 
aspersions  upon  his  mother  and  his  sister,  in  language  and  as- 
wurlion,  which,  among  the  vulgar,  is  almost  always  effectual  in 
irritating  to  the  last  degree  of  human  violence.  The  object  of 
lilonay  was  to  provoke  Humphries  to  the  use  of  the  more 
weapon,  which  would  have  given  him  death  without  the 


IIUMI'IIKIKS   Th'KKS    Ti!K    It ALF-BMKED.  581 

prolonged  torture  consequent  upon  such  a  doom  as  that  to 
which  he  was  now  destined.  But  the  partisan  readily  divined 
his  object,  and  denied  him  the  desired  boon. 

•'  No,  no,  catch  old  birds  with  chaff,"  he  replied,  coolly, 
"  You  shall  die  as  you  are.  I'll  just  take  the  liberty  of  {tutting  a 
plug  into  that  hollow,  which  will  give  you  less  chance  to  talk  out, 
as  you  now  seem  pleased  to  do.  I'll  stop  out  a  little  more  of 
the  sweet  air,  so  that  you  may  enjoy  better  what  I  leave  you." 

Thus  saying,  he  threw  together  a  few  chunks  at  the  foot  of 
the  tree,  and,  rising  upon  them,  well  provided  with  a  wedge 
estimated  to  fit  the  aperture,  he  prepared  to  drive  it  in,  and 
placed  it  at  the  opening  for  that  purpose.  The  desperate  H)o- 
nay  thrust  one  hand  through  the  crevice,  in  the  vain  hope  to 
exclude  the  wedge.  But  a  blow  from  the  lightwood  knot  with 
which  Humphries  had  provided  himself  as  a  sort  of  mallet, 
crushed  the  extended  fingers  almost  into  a  mass,  and  (he  half- 
breed  must  have  fainted  from  the  pain,  as  the  hand  was  in 
stantly  withdrawn  ;  and  when  the  partisan  drove  in  the  wedge 
the  face  of  the  victim  had  sunk  below  the  opening,  and  was  no 
longer  to  be  seen.  His  task  completed,  he  descended  from 
his  perch,  threw  aside  the  chunks  which  had  supported  him, 
and  set  off  to  find  his  horse.  He  was  at  last  secure  from  the 
hunter  of  blood — lie  had  triumphed — and  yet  he  could  not 
keep  down  the  fancy,  which  continually,  as  he  went,  imbodied 
tin;  supposed  cries  of  the  half-breed  in  little  gusts  of  wind, 
that  seemed  to  pursue  him;  and,  when  he  emerged  from  tho 
wood,  a  strange  chill  went  through  his  bones,  and  he  looked 
back  momently,  even  when  the  gigantic  cypress,  which  was 
the  sepulchre  of  his  enemy,  no  longer  reared  up  its  solemn 
spire  in  his  sight.  It  was  no  longer  behind  him.  It  seemed 
to  move  before  him  faster  than  his  horse  ;  and  he  spurred  the 
animal  furiously  forward,  seeking  to  pass  the  fast-travelling 
tree,  and  to  escape  the  moaning  sound  which  ever  came  after 
him  upon  the  breeze. 


382  MRLLTCIIAMPK. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

THE    SIGNAL. 

THE  deed  was  done  ;  and  Humphries,  fatigued  by  a  long  and 
arduous  duty  on  the  previous  night,  and  doubly  so  from  the 
exciting  circumstances  just  narrated,  hurribd  to  his  place  of 
retreat  and  repose  in  the  swamp  covert  of  the  partisans.  He 
could  sleep  now.  For  a  long  period  his  sleep  had  been  trou 
bled  and  unsatisfactory.  His  apprehensions  were  now  quieted, 
and  sweet  must  be  that  first  s!°ep  which  we  feel  to  be  secure 
from  the  efforts  off  a  long-sleepless  enemy. 

His  companions,  meanwhile,  had  the  duties  of  the  scout  to 
execute,  and  each  had  gone  upon  his  several  tasks.  Wither- 
spoon,  with  whom  our  course  now  lies,  true  to  his  friend,  pro 
ceeded  at  once  to  the  woods  that  surrounded  the  camp  of  Bars- 
field.  He  maintained  a  close  watch  upon  the  premises  in  which 
Mellichampe  lay  a  prisoner.  How  he  knew  of  the  youth's  pre 
dicament  may  not  be  said,  but  certain  it  is  he  was  informed 
both  as  to  the  nature  of  his  injuries  and  his  condition.  He 
had,  probably,  lurked  in  the  hollow,  or  listened  from  a  tree, 
while  an  incautious  sentinel  prattled  to  his  comrade;  or,  which 
is  not  less  probable,  he  had  gathered  his  intelligence  from  some 
outlying  negro  of  the  plantation,  whose  address  enabled  him 
to  steal  forth  at  intervals,  in  spite  of  the  surrounding  sentinels. 

Solicitous,  to  the  last  degree,  for  the  safety  of  the  youth,  of 
whose  safety,  while  in  the  custody  of  Barsfield,  he  half-des 
paired,  he  availed  himself  of  his  duties  as  a  scout  to  lurk  about 
the  neighborhood,  in  the  faint  hope  to  communicate  with,  or  in 
some  other  way  to  serve,  the  prisoner.  Night  after  night,  for 
a  week  before  the  period  to  which  we  have  no\v  r.ome,  had  lie 
cheered  the  heart  and  strengthened  the  hope  of  MeHichamjM- 


THE    SIGNAL.  883 

with  his  well  known-wnistle.  It  may  1>e  scarce  necessary  to 
eay,  that  the  faithful  inferior  found  no  less  gratification  in  this 
sad  office  than  did  the  youth  to  whom  it  taught  the  unrelaxing, 
though  as  yet  ineffectual,  watchfulness  of  a  friend. 

The  dexterity  of  Witherspoon  admirably  sorted  with  his 
fidelity  and  courage.  Fearlessly  did  he  penetrate  the  nearest 
points  to  which  he  might  approach,  without  certainty  of  being 
seen,  of  the  camp  of  his  enemy.  The  frequent  exercise  of  his 
faculties  as  a  woodman,  a  native  ease  and  self-confidence,  and 
a  heart  too  much  interested  in  a  single  object  to  feel  any  scru 
ples  or  fear  any  danger,  prompted  him  to  a  degree  of  hardi 
hood  which,  in  a  less  admirable  scout,  would  have  been  child 
ish  audacity  ;  but  it  was  in  him  the  result  of  a  calm  conviction 
of  his  own  readiness  of  resource,  and  of  his  general  ability  to 
meet  emergencies.  He  knew  himself  as  well  as  his  enemy, 
and  relied  upon  his  own  sense  of  superiority.  This  confidence, 
however,  seduced  him  into  no  mcautiousness.  He  timed  his 
movements  with  a  just  reference  to  all  the  circumstances  of 
his  situation  ;  chose  his  route  and  designed  his  purpose  well 
before  entering  upon  it;  and,  this  done,  dashed  forward  with 
the  boldness  of  the  tiger,  and  the  light,  scarce  perceptible  foot 
step  of  the  wild  turkey  in  April. 

It  was  night  when,  after  making  a  circuit  around  Barsfield's 
position,  and  scanning  it  carefully  on  every  side,  he  reached  a 
copse  at  the  head  of  the  avenue,  where,  on  a  previous  occa 
sion,  we  found  himself  and  Mellichampe  concealed.  It  was  an 
old  haunt,  and  lie  threw  himself  on  the  grass  and  mused  list 
lessly,  like  one  who,  after  long  strifes  and  a  heating  exercise 
abroad,  comes  home  to  the  repose  and  permitted  freedoms  of 
his  own  fireside  and  family.  The  camp-fires  were  sprinkled 
about  the  woods  before  him,  looking  dimly  enough  in  contrast 
with  the  pale  but  brighter  gleams  of  the  now  ascending  moon. 
The  house  in  which  Mellichampe  was  confined  stood  a  little 
beyond,  but  as  yet  nndistinguishable.  The  scout  lay  and 
mused  upon  the  fate  and  probable  fortunes  of  his  friend,  and 
his  thoughts,  breaking  through  the  bounds  of  his  own  restrain 
ing  consciousness,  were  framed  into  words  upon  his  lips  with 
out  his  own  volition. 


384:  MF.r.UCHAMPK. 

"  I  could  swear  lie  answered  me  last  night.  There's  no 
mistake.  Three  times  it  come  upon  the  wind  ;  first,  quick  and 
shrill,  to  ketch  the  ear — then  slow  and  sad  —  and  then  quick 
and  shrill  agin.  'Twas  a  great  distance  to  hear  a  whistle,  but 
the  wind  come  up  jist  then,  and  I'm  sure  I  heard  it;  and  it 
was  sich  a  blessed  sort  of  music,  coming  from  Airnest,  that,  by 
gracious!  —  I  can't  help  it  —  I'll  go  closer  agin,  and  see  if  I 
can't  git  some  more  of  it.  It's  a  sign  he's  doing  better  if  he's 
able  to  whistle,  and  it's  a  clear  sign  he  hears  me,  when  he's 
able  to  answer.  I'll  try  it  agin  soon  as  I  see  that  big  fire 
kindled  that  burns  upon  the  left,  for  then  I  know  they'll  be 
busy  at  the  supper.  He  shall  hear  me  agin,  by  gimini !  He 
shall  know  I  ain't  forgotten  him  —  though,  to  be  sure,  there's 
but  little  can  be  done  for  him  yet.  Them  d — d  blasted  lories 
are  too  thick  about  Barsfield,  and  the  'fox'  must  wait  and 
watch  a  little  longer  before  he  can  make  a  break.  Gimini! 
it's  hard  enough,  but  there's  no  way  to  help  it." 

He  soliloquized  thus  upon  a  variety  of  matters,  all  bearing 
upon  this  subject;  and,  had  a  scout  of  the  enemy  been  crouch 
ing  among  the  branches  of  the  tree  above  him,  he  might  have 
picked  up  for  Barsfield  many  a  valuable  little  secret  touching 
the  condition  and  the  force  of  Marion.  The  faithful  Wither- 
spoon  was  one  of  those  ingenuous  persons  who  do  not  hesitate 
to  speak  their  thoughts  out  freely,  and  who,  thinking  to  hirn- 
?elf,  is  yet  quite  as  likely  to  be  confiding  and  communicative, 
as  if  he  was  really  engaged  in  delivering  a  message  to  hie 
superior.  You  could  have  heard  from  his  lips  on  this  occasion, 
without  much  striving  to  hear,  what  were  the  general  objects 
of  the  partisan  —  how  he  was  busy  gathering  his  men  in  the 
swamp  for  the  co-operation,  in  future  strife,  with  the  newly- 
forming  army  of  Greene  —  of  designs  upon  the  rapidly-rushing, 
and  perhaps  too  self-confident,  career  of  Bannister  Tarleton  ; 
and,  to  come  more  immediately  to  the  interest  before  us,  he 
might  have  learned  now,  for  the  first  time,  as  we  do,  of  the 
organization  of  an  especial  corps,  to  be  commanded  by  Major 
Singleton,  having  for  its  object  the  rescue  of  the  youthful 
Melliclmmpe,  whenever  it  should  be  ascertained  that  he  was 
to  be  removed  to  Charleston.  This  was  a  primary  considera 


Tine  SIGNA^.  385 


»,ion  with  the  partisan.  The  tender  mercies  of  a  Charleston 
commandant,  and  of  a  board  of  British  officers  for  inquiry, 
were  well  known  ;  and  the  sacrifice  of  the  youth  was  a  fear 
with  all  his  friends,  should  he  not  be  rescued  from  the  clutches 
of  his  foe  before  his  transfer  to  the  scene  of  trial.  Too  haz 
ardous  an  enterprise  to  aim  at  this  rescue  while  the  youth  lay 
in  Barsfield's  well-defended  encampment,  the  partisan  simply 
prepared  himself  to  be  in  readiness  at  the  moment  when  a 
signal  from  his  scouts  should  apprise  him  of  the  movement 
of  any  guard  of  the  enemy  in  the  direction  of  the  city.  An 
ambush  on  the  wayside  was  the  frequent  resort  of  warriors 
who  were  only  too  few,  too  poorly  armed  and  provided,  to  risk 
a  more  daring  sort  of  warfare. 

The  camp  of  Barsfield  was  soon  illuminated  by  the  addi 
tional  fire  of  which  Witherspoon  had  spoken.  As  soon  as  he 
beheld  it  he  proceeded,  cautiously  but  fearlessly,  to  pass  the 
intervening  road  ;  then,  keeping  close  alongside  of  the  left  or 
upward  bank  of  the  avenue  leading  to  the  settlement,  he  stole 
along  from  tree  to  tree,  until  he  heard  the  measured  tread  of 
tine  more  advanced  sentinels.  A  necessity  for  greater  precau 
tion  induced  a  pause.  He  stole,  a  moment  after,  to  the  edge 
of  the  ditch,  into  which  he  descended;  then,  crawling  upon 
hands  and  knees  up  the  bank,  he  looked  over  into  the  avenue, 
and  distinguished  the  glittering  raiment  of  the  first  sentinel. 
In  the  distance  he  beheld  a  second,  with  corresponding  pace, 
moving  his  "  lonely  round."  Resting  his  chin  upon  his  palm, 
Witherspoon  took  a  cool  survey  of  the  prospect,  and  did  not 
even  withdraw  himself  into  the  hollow  when  the  nearest  sol 
dier,  having  gained  his  limit,  wheeled  to  retrace  his  steps. 

"  I  could  nail  that  fellow's  best  button  now  with  a  sly  bul 
let,  if  'twas  any  use,  and  he  wouldn't  know  what  hurt  him," 
was  the  half-muttered  thought  of  the  scout  as  the  sentinel 
approached.  The  man  came  forward  until  he  stood  abreast 
of  our  scout,  who  buried  himself  in  the  long  grass  as  he  ap 
proached  ;  then,  again  wheeling,  he  commenced  his  monotonous 
return.  It  was  now  the  moment  for  Witherspoon  :  he  gath 
ered  himself  up  instantly,  waited  in  readiness  until  the  senti 
nel  had  gone  half  of  his  distance,  then,  with  a  single  bound, 

1  *7 


386  MKLUCIIAMPK. 

leaped  down  intJ  the  avenue,  and  sought  his  way  across.  Ills 
tread  was  light,  wonderfully  light,  for  a  man  so  heavy ;  but  it 
did  not  escape  the  quick  ear  of  the  watchful  Briton.  lie 
turned  instantly,  presented  his  piece,  and  challenged.  But 
the  coast  was  clear  ;  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  ;  the  scout 
had  already  crossed  the  road,  and  was  sheltered  in  the  thick 
copse  on  the  other  bank  of  the  avenue.  The  leaves  and  hru.^1, 
were  shaken,  and  the  only  response  made  to  the  challenge  of 
the  sentry  was  the  hooting  of  a  melancholy  owl,  and  a  noise 
like  the  shaking  of  wings  among  the  branches. 

"What's  tlie  matter?"  cried  the  companion  sentinel,  ap 
proaching  the  challenger,  who  had  remained  stationary  in 
the  brief  interval  occupied  by  this  event.  "  What  have  you 
seen  ?" 

"  Nothing  —  it's  only  an  owl.  These  woods  are  full  of  them , 
t,]ie  d — d  things  keep  one  starting  on  all  sides  as  if  the  'swamp- 
fox'  himself  was  scrambling  over  the  ditch." 

The  scout  lay  close,  and  heard  the  question  and  response. 
lie  chuckled  to  himself  with  no  little  self-complaisance  as  he 
\istened.  * 

"By  gimini!"  he  half-muttered  aloud,  "what  a  poor  skunk 
of  a  fellow  I'd  be,  now,  if  my  ed 5 cation  was  no  better  than 
that  sentry's.  Not  to  know  a  man's  hollow  from  a  blind  bird's !" 

Waiting  a  few  moments  until  the  guardians  of  the  night 
had  resumed  their  walk,  he  at  length  boldly  left  the  copse,  and 
proceeded  without  hesitation,  though  cautiously,  still  nearer  to 
the  house  which  held  the  prisoner. 

Meanwhile,  full  of  anxiety,  the  lovers  lingered  together. 
This  was  the  night  on  which  Scipio  was  despatched  in  search 
of  Witherspoon,  and  all  their  thoughts  were  necessarily  given 
to  his  successful  management  of  the  enterprise.  Well  might 
they  be  anxious;  and  how  natural  was  the  deep  and  breathless 
silence  which,  for  protracted  hours,  overspread  the  apartment 
as  if  with  a  dense  and  heavier  mantle  than  that  of  night.  The 
arm  of  Mellichampe  enfolded  the  waist  of  the  maiden.  She 
lay  sadly,  as  was  her  wont,  upon  its  supporting  strength  ;  and 
her  cheek,  with  all  the  confidence  of  true  and  unsophisticated 
affection,  rested  upon  his  bosom.  She  feared  nothing  —  she 


THE    SIGNAL.  387 

doubted   nothing  —  at  that  moment ;  for  she  knew  how  noble 
was  the  heart  that  beat  beneath  it. 

Her  fears  were  elsewhere.  The  fate  of  her  lover  hung  sus 
pended,  as  it  were,  upon'  a  thread.  He  was  about  to  seek  & 
perilous  chance  for  life,  to  escape  from  a  more  perilous,  and, 
as  it  appeared  to  them,  an  unavoidable  necessity.  Upon  the 
cunning  of  the  slave  —  upon  his  successful  search  after  flic 
partisans  — and  upon  their  readiness  and  ability  for  the  adveii- 
.  me,  the  life  of  Mellichampo  depended.  How  many  contin 
gencies  to  be  met  and  overcome!  how  many  difficulties  to  be 
{•voided  or  surmounted!  how  many  dangers  to  be  hazarded 
and  sought!  The  accumulating  thoughts  of  these  took  from 
her  all  hope.  She  was  no  longer  sanguine,  though  her  more 
buoyant  lover,  in  all  the  eloquent  warmth  of  a  young  heart, 
strove  to  persuade  her  into  confidence.  She  lay  upon  his 
bosom,  and  wept  bitter  tears. 

Suddenly  there  came  again  to  the  apartment  the  faint,  dis 
tant,  but  distinct  sound  — the  whistle  of  the  woodman.  Melli- , 
champc  lifted  her  head  from  its  place  of  rest,  and  his  heart 
increased  its  beatings.  His  eye  brightened  ;  and,  as  she  be 
held  its  glance,  her  own  kindled  amid  its  tears.  Again  and 
again  did  the  well-known  notes  glide  into  the  apartment,  and 
well  did  the  youth  know  then  that  his  friends  were  at  hand. 

"Hear!  hear  it,  my  Janet?  He  is  there  — it  isTVither- 
spoon  —  it  is  his  signal  — the  same  that  has  come  to  me,  and 
cheered  me,  night  after  night,'  when  you  could  no  longer  be 
with  me.  Do  you  not  hear  it  ?" 

The  sense  of  the  maiden  did  not  seem  so  quick  as  that  of 
her  lover.  She  paused  ;  and,  though  her  eye  had  caught  a 
glow  from  the  kindled  expression  of  his,  it  still  seemed  that 
she  doubted  the  reality  of  the  sounds  when  an  appeal  was  made 
to  her  own  distinct  consciousness.  She  was  a  sweet  depen 
dant —  one  who  could  receive  consolation  from  the  assurances 
of  another;  but,  save  in  love,  who  could  give  little  in  return. 

"Is  it  a  whistle,  Ernest?  —  it  seems  to  me  little  more  than 
a  murmur  of  the  wind  ...  Ah  !  I  do  — I  do  hear  it  now  — it 
is;  it  is  a  whistle."  And  her  head  sank,  in  joy,  again  upon 
the  manly  and  aroused  bosom  of  her  lover. 


388  MKLLTCHAMPE 

"  It  is  he,  and  all's  well  if  Scipio  does  not  miss  him.  Janet, 
dear  love,  we  must  see  to  tin's,  Scipio  may  not  yet  be  gone; 
and,  if  not,  methinks  I  can  direct  him  to  the  very  spot  whence 
these  sounds  come.  I  know  I  can.  See,  dear — hark!  To 
the  north  —  directly  to  the  north  —  is  it  not?  Ton  hear  it 
now  —  there,  in  that  direction;  and  that  is  toward  the  little 
hay  that  lies  between  this  house  and  the  avenue.  That's  just 
the  spot  in  which  a  good  scout  would  lurk  at  such  a  moment, 
and  from  that  spot  he  knows  that  I  can  hear  his  signal.  He 
must  be  there  now  ;  and  if  Scipio  passes  in  that  direction,  he 
must  find  him.  If  not  gone,  the  fellow  must  go  at  once,  for 
Witherspoon  can't  remain  long  in  one  spot  while  in  this  neigh 
borhood.  The  scouts  may  trouble  him.  See  to  it,  then,  dear 
Janet  —  see  if  Scipio  be  not  gone,  and  send  him  on  that 
course  :  and  hold  me  not  burdensome,  dearest,  that  I  give  you, 
in  these  dangerous  hours,  more  employment  than  affection.*" 

"  Speak  not  thus,  dear  Ernest,"  replied  the  maiden,  fondly, 
as  she  proceeded  to  execute  the  mission  —  "  speak  not  thus  — 
not  thus  to  me.  Are  not  Love's  labors  his  pleasures  always  1 
does  he  not  rejoice  to  serve1?  I  do,  I  am  sure.  I  feel  that 
my  best  pleasures  are  my  labors  always  —  always  when  they 
are  taken  for  you." 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  my  Janet,"  he  murmured  fondly  in 
reply,  as  his  lips  were  pressed  upon  her  forehead  ;  "  Heaven 
bless  you,  and  make  me  worthy  of  all  this  devotion." 


COW-CHASING. 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 

COW-CHASING. 

BUT  Scipio  was  already  gone  upon  his  mission,  and  the 
maiden  looked  for  him  in  vain.  The  next  fear  of  Mellichampa 
was  that  he  should  miss  the  person  he  sought.  Scipio,  how 
ever,  though  he  had  left  the  house,  had  not  yet  passed  the 
enclosure.  The  line  of  sentinels  had  yet  to  he  gone  through  ; 
and  a  task,  like  that  we  have  just  seen  overcome  by  Withcr- 
spoon,  had  yet  to  be  performed  by  the  negro  in  crossing  the 
avenue.  He  had  his  arts  also,  and  his  plan  was  one  aftei  his 
own  heart  and  fashion. 

Creeping  along  by  the  fence,  which  ran  circuitously  from 
the  house  of  the  overseer  to  the  avenue,  and  which  we  have 
seen  employed  as  a  screen  to  Singleton's  riflemen,  he  reached 
the  entrance  of  the  avenne,  though  without  being  able  to  cross 
it  at  the  point  he  made.  The  sentinels  in  this  quarter  were 
too  numerous  and  close  to  permit  him  to  attempt  it  there,  and, 
keeping  along  the  skirts  of  the  copse  and  under  its  shade,  he 
moved  upward.  The  soldiers  of  Barsfield  were  more  watchful 
without  than  within ;  and,  though  but  a  few  yards  separated 
the  negro,  in  his  stealthy  progress,  from  the  pacing  sentinel, 
such  was  the  address  of  Scipio,  that  he  occasioned  not  the 
slightest  apprehension.  But  to  cross  the  avenue,  and  reach 
the  dense  wood  that  lay  on  the  opposite  side,  was  the  work 
of  most  difficult  achievement. 

To  accomplish  this,  it  was  the  aim  of  Scipio  to  pass  through 
a  drain  which  crossed  the  avenue,  and  conducted  the  waters 
from  the  two  ditches,  Avhen  overflowed,  into  a  third,  by  means 
of  which  they  were  carried  off  into  a  hollow  bay  lying  some 
fifty  yards  distant  in  the  woods.  To  penetrate  the  umbra" 


390  MKLLlCHAMrE. 

geous  copse  on  one  side  of  tlie  avenue  —  to  watcli  the  moment 
when  the  sentinel's  back  should  be  turned  —  then,  dropping 
down  silently  into  the  ditch,  to  crawl  into  the  drain,  the  mouth 
of  which  was  immediately  alongside  of  it,  was  the  scheme  of 
Scipio. 

In  pursuance  of  this  scheme,  he  passed  on  with  all  the 
stealthy  adroitness  of  the  wildcat  —  now  hurrying,  as  he  found 
himself  too  much  without  tlio  cover  of  the  trees  —  now  crawl 
ing  forward,  on  hands  and  knees,  as  the  clambering  vines 
around  him  set  a  firm  barrier  against  undue  uprightness  — 
and  now  lying  or  standing,  motionless,  as  any  warning  or  oc 
casional  sounds  reached  his  ears,  from  either  the  camp  which 
he  had  left,  or  the  woods  to  which  he  was  speeding.  The 
exceeding  brightness  of  the  moonlight  rendered  increased  pre 
cautions  necessary,  and  gave  bitter  occasion  of  complaint  to 
the  negro,  to  whom,  like  all  of  his  color,  the  darkness  of  the 
night  was  a  familiar  thing,  and  opposed  no  sort  of  obstruction 
to  his  nocturnal  wanderings  when  the  plantations  otherwise 
ware  all  fast  asleep,  He  penetrated  the  copse,  and,  thrusting 
his  sable  visage  through  the  shrubbery,  looked  from  side  to 
side  upon  the  two  sentinels  who  paced  that  portion  of  the 
avenue  in  sight.  He  duly  noted  their  distances  and  position, 
and,  receding  a  pace,  threw  himself  flat  upon  the  bank  and 
crawled  downward  into  the  ditch.  The  mouth  of  the  drain 
lay  a  little  above  him,  conveniently  open  and  large  ;  and  there 
could  have  been  no  sort  of  difficulty,  when  he  once  reached 
that  point,  of  making  his  way  through  it  into  the  opposite 
cover. 

But  it  so  happened  that  Scipio,  in  his  progress,  gave  more 
of  his  regards  to  the  sentinel,  and  less  to  the  path  immediately 
before  him,  than  was  either  prudent  or  proper.  He  did  not 
perceive  a  slender  and  decayed  pine-limb  which  lay  partially 
over  the  route  he  was  pursuing.  His  hand  rested  heavily  upon 
it  in  his  progress,  and  it  gave  way  beneath  the  pressure,  with 
a  crack  which  might  have  reached  the  ears  of  a  sentinel  at 
a  much  greater  distance.  With  the  sound,  he  turned  suddenly 
in  the  direction  of  tbe  negro.  The  poor  fellow  had  his  work 
to  begin  anew.  He  had  plunged,  with  the  yielding  branch, 


391 

incontinently  into  the  mire,  and  in  the  first  moment  of  the 
accident  his  entire  face  had  been  immersed  in  its  slime. 

However,  there  was  no  time  for  regrets,  and  but  little  for  re 
flection.  The  proceeding  of  Scipio  \vas  that  of  an  instinct 
rather  than  a  thought.  He  heard  the  fierce  challenge  of  the 
sentinel,  who  yet  did  not  see  him.  He  saw  that,  in  any  en 
deavor  at  flight,  he  must  be  shot ;  and  to  seek  to  prosecute  his 
scheme  would  be  idle,  as  the  drain  lay  between  him  and  the 
advancing  soldier;  he  could  not  reach  it  in  time  to  escape  his 
eyes.  In  boldness  alone  could  he  hope  to  escape  ;  and,  in  the 
moment  of  sudden  peril,  audacity  is  frequently  the  truest  wis 
dom.  He  rose  upon  his  feet  with  the  utmost  composure;  and, 
without  seeking  to  retreat  or  advance,  exclaimed  as  he  rose, 
in  all  the  gusto  of  a  well-fed  negro's  phraseology,  with  a  de 
gree  of  impudence  which  might  have  imposed  upon  a  more  sa 
gacious  head  than  that  of  the  sentinel  before  him  — 

"Look  a  'ere,  misser  sodger,  tek' care  how  you  shoot  at 
inau.ssa  nigger.  Good  surbant  berry  scarce  in  dis  country  ; 
and,  when  gemplemen  hab  sarbant  like  Scip,  he  ain't  foolish 
'nough  for  sell  'em.  No  gould  —  no  silber  money  guine  buy 
Scip;  so  take  care,  I  tell  you,  how  you  spile  you'  pocket." 

"Why,  what  the  h  — 11,  Scip,  are  you  doing  there?"  de 
manded  the  gruff  soldier,  who  knew  him  well. 

"  Ki,  Mass  Boor  am,  wha'  for  you  ax  sich  foolish  question  ? 
Euty  you  see  I  tumble  in  de  ditch  ?  Suppose  you  tink  I  guine 
(lore  o'  purpose,  and  spile  my  best  breeches  ?  You's  wrong.  I 
hold  on  de  branch,  and  de  branch  breck,  and  so  I  tumble. 
Wha'  more  1  Da's  all." 

"  And  suppose,  Scip,  that,  instead  of  coming  up  to  you  civ- 
ily,  as  I  have  done,  I  should  have  sent  a  bullet  into  your  ribs, 
or  poked  you  a  little  with  this  bagnet  ?" 

"  You  bin  do  sich  ting,  Mass  Booram,  I  say  you  no  gein- 
pletnan.  Nebber  gempleman  hit  nigger  if  he  kin  help  it ; 
'kaise  a  nigger's  a  'spectable  character  wha'  can't  help  hcself. 
Da's  a  good  reason  for  udder  people  for  no  hu't  'em.  'Tis  only 
poor  buckrah  dat  does  trouble  nigger.  Scip  has  ambitions  for 
gempleman  ;  but  a  poor  buckrah,  Mass  Booram,  he  no  AVUSS 
tree  copper." 


392  MELLICJ1AMFE. 

"  All  very  well,  Scipio  ;  but  what  brought  you  here,  old  fel 
low  ?  Don't  you  know  you  have  no  business  in  this  quarter?" 

"  Who  tell  you  clat,  Mass  Booram  ?  He's  ad  —  n  fool  of  a 
nigger  hesself  if  he  tell  you  so.  Wha's  de  reason  I  say  so  ? 
'kaise,  you  see,  I  hob  business  in  dis  quarter.  Let  me  ax  you 
few  questions,  Mass  Booram,  and  talk  like  a  gempleman,  'kaise 
I  can't  'spect  white  man  when  he  lib  'pon  gar-broff" 

"  Go  on,  Scip,"  replied  the  soldier,  complacently. 

"  Fuss,  den,  you  know  I  hab  maussa,  enty  ?" 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure ;  if  you  hadn't,  Scip,  I'd  take  you  for  my 
self;  I  like  a  good  nigger  mightily." 

"  'Spec  you  does,  but  da's  nothing ;  you  hab  for  ax  if  good 
nigger  likes  you.  Maussa  want  to  sell  Scip,  he  gib  um  ticket 
look  he  owner ;  da's  de  business.  But  da's  not  wha'  we  hab 
for  talk  'bout.  If  I  b'long  to  maussa,  wha'  he  name  ?" 

"  Why,  Mr.  Berkeley,  to  be  sure  !" 

"Da's  a  gospel.  I  b'longs  to  Dick  Berkeley  —  dis  plantation 
b'iong  to  Dick  Berkeley  — Dick  Berkeley  hab  he  cow,  euty, 
Mass  Booram  ?" 

"  Yes,  cow  and  calf  in  plenty,  and  enough  of  everything 
beside.  I  only  wish  I  had  half  as  much,  I  would  not  carry 
this  d — d  heavy  musket." 

'•  Ha  !  you  leff  off  sodger  ?  You  right,  Mass  Booram  ;  sodger 
is  bad  business,  nebber  sodger  is  good  gempleman.  He  hab 
for  cuss  —  he  hab  for  drunk;  he  hab  for  hu't  udder  people 
wha'sjistas  good  and  much  better  dan  heself.  I  terra  you 
what,  Mass  Booram,  Scip  wouldn't  be  sodger  for  de  world  and 
all  da's  in  it;  he  radder  be  poor  buckra — any  ting  sooner 
dan  sodger.  A  sodger  is  a  poor  debbil,  dat  hab  no  ambition 
for  'spectability  :  I  radder  be  nigger-driber  any  day,  dan  cap- 
pin,  like  Mass  Barsfield." 

"You  would,  would  you  t  you  d  —  d  conceited  crow  in  a 
corn-field!  Why,  Scipio,  you're  the  most  vainest  flycatchei 
in  the  country,"  said  the  other,  good-naturedly.  Scipio  re 
ceived  the  speech  as  a  compliment. 

"  Tank  you,  Mass  Booram.  You's  a  gempleman,  and  can 
comprehend.  But  wha' I  was  telling  you?  ah!  Massa  hab 
cow.  Wha'  den  1  Now  I  guine  show  y  >u  wha'  bring  me  here 


COW-CHASING.  393 

Da's  some  of  you  sodger  bin  guine  tief  de  milk,  and  breck 
down  de  gate  of  de  cow-lot.  Wha' dent — Brin die  gone  — 
Becky  gone — Polly  gone.  Tree  of  maussa  best  cow  gone, 
'kaise  you  sodger  lub  milk-  Wha'  Scip  for  do  1  Wlia1  maussa 
tell  um.  It's  dat  is  brin  me  here.  I  guine  look  for  de  cow.  1 
no  bring  um  home  by  daylight,  maussa  say  driber  shall  gib 
me  h-11." 

"  And  so  you  want  to  pass  here,  Scipio,  in  order  to  look 
after  the  cattle?  Suppose  now  I  should  not  suffer  you  to  pass, 
suppose  I  should  send  you  back  to  get  your  flogging  ?" 

"  Suppose  you  does  1"  said  the  other,  boldly  ;  "  suppose  you 
does,  you's  no  gempleman.  Da's  a  mean  buckrah,  Mass  Boo- 
ram,  wha'  kin  do  so  to  poor  nigga.  Wha'  for  you  guine  let 
maussa  gib  me  h-11 1  I  ebber  hurt  you,  Mass  Booram  ?  'Tis 
you  own  sodger  guine  for  tief  de  milk,  dat's  let  out  Brindle 
and  Becky.  Scip  nebber  let  'em  out.  Wha'  for  you  no  say  — 
whip  de  sodger  —  wha'  for  you  say  whip  de  nigga?" 

"  It  is  a  hard  case,  Scip,  and  you  shall  pass,  though  it's  agin 
orders.  But  remember,  old  boy,  when  you  bring  home  the 
cows,  I  must  have  the  first  milking.  You  shall  provide  me. 
with  milk  so  long  as  we  stay  here  for  saving  you  from  this  flog 
ging." 

"  Da's  a  bargain,"  said  the  negro,  preparing  to  depart : 
"  da.'s  fair.  Mass  Booram,  I  bin  always  tink  you  was  a  gem- 
pieman,  dat  hab  a  lub  for  poor  nigga.  I  kin  speak  for  you 
after  dis." 

"  Thank  you,  Scipio,"  said  the  other  good-naturedly.  "  Take 
piece  of  gunja  —  he  berry  good,  Mass  Booram — my  wife  make 
'em." 

The  negro  broke  his  molasses-cake  evenly  between  himself 
and  the  soldier,  who  did  not  scruple  readily  to  receive  it.  A 
few  more  words  were  exchanged  between  them,  when,  passing 
the  avenue,  Scipio  hurried  forward,  and  found  himself,  his 
chief  difficulties  surmounted,  in  the  deep  bosom  of  the  ad 
joining  woods. 

Free  of  all  present  restraint,  the  tongue  of  Scipio,  after  a 
very  common  fashion  among  negroes,  discoursed  freely  to  its 
proprietor,  aloud,  upon  the  difficulties  yet  before  him. 

17* 


394:  MKLLTCHAMrE. 

"  Well,  'spose  I  pass  one,  da's  noting.  Plenty  more,  I  speck 
scatter  'bout  here  in  dese  woodb  ,  .»ncl,  ef  lie  ain't  tory  — wlia' 
den  I  Some  of  dese  Marion  men  jis'  as  bad.  lie  make  not'ing 
of  shoot  poor  nigga,  if  it's  only  to  git  lie  jacket.  Cracky  ! 
wlia'  dat  now  ?  I  Lear  someting.  Clia  !  'tis  de  win'  only. 
He  liab  all  kind  of  noise  in  dis  wood  for  frighten  people  — 
sometime  he  go  like  a  man  groan  wid  a  bullet-hole  work  in  he 
back.  Nudder  time  he  go  like  a  pnsson  was  laughing;  but  I 
don't  see  noting  here  to  make  pnsson  laugh.  Da's  a  noise  now 
I  don't  comprehend  —  like  de  nocking  ob  old  dry  sticks  to- 
gedder  ;  'spose  its  some  bird  da's  flopping  off  de  moschetus  wid 
his  wings.  It's  a  bad  place  in  dis  woods,  and  I  wonder  wlia' 
make  dat  Dick  Wedderspoon  lub  'em  so.  "Wliay  him  now," 
'tis  like  a  blind  nigga  that  don't  come  when  you  want  urn.  I 
no  bin  look  arter  urn  now,  I  plump  jist  'pun  urn.  I  no  hab 
noting  to  ax  urn,  he  sure  for  answer.  I  no  hab  noting  to  gib 
urn,  he  sure  for  put  out  he  hand  for  something.  He's  a — " 

At  that  moment  a  heavy  slap  upon  the  cheek  from  a  pon 
derous  hand  saluted  the  soliloquizing  Scipio,  and  arrested  his 
complainings.  The  light  flashed  from  the  negro's  eyes  as  he 
turned  at  this  rough  salutation. 

"  Cracky  !  Who  da  dat  —  Mass  Wedderspoon  ?" 

"Ah,  you  rascal  —  you  know'd  well  enough.  You  only 
talked  out  your  impudent  stuff  for  me  to  hear,  Scipio,  'cause 
you  know'd  I  was  close  at  hand." 

•'  I  sway  to  G-d,  Mass  Wedderspoon,  I  nebber  b'lieb  you 
been  so  close.  I  bin  look  for  you." 

"  Why,  you  numskull,  you  came  a  great  deal  out  of  your 
way,  for  I  was  behind  you  all  the  time.  You  managed  that 
sentinel  mighty  well,  Scip,  I  heard  the  whole  of  your  palaver, 
and  really  did  believe  at  first  that  the  cows  were  off,  and  you 
were  going  after  them." 

"  And  how  come  you  no  b'lieb  now,  Mass  Wedderspoon  !" 

"  Because,  you  were  no  sooner  out  of  his  sight  fairly,  but 
you  began  to  go  faster  than  before  —  much  faster  than  you 
ever  did  go  when  you  went  out  into  the  swamp  after  cattle." 

"  Da's  a  trute.  But  you  know,  Mass  Wedderspoon,  wha'  I 
come  out  for — you  know  who  1  looking  arter!" 


COW  CHASING.  395 

"No  —  I  do  not';  but  I  *rant  to  know  a  good  deal  that  you 
can  tell  me,  sc  the  sooner  you  begin  the  better.  How  is  Airnest, 
for  the  first  ?" 

"  He  mos'  well ;  but  here's  de  paper  —  read  'em  —  he  tell  you 
ebbry  ting." 

The  scout  seized  the  scrawl,  and  strove  to  trace  out  its 
contents  by  moonlight,  but,  failing  to  do  so,  he  drew  a  pistol 
from  his  belt,  and,  extracting  the  load,  flashed  the  priming 
in  a  handful  of  dry  straw  which  Scipio  heaped  together. 
With  some  little  difficulty  he  deciphered  the  scrawl,  while 
the  negro  kept  plying  the  fuel  to  the  blaze.  Its  contents 
were  soon  read  and  quickly  understood.  Witherspoon  was 
overjoyed.  The  prospect  of  Mellichampe's  release,  even 
though  at  the  risk  of  a  desperate  fight,  was  productive  to  him 
of  the  most  complete  satisfaction. 

"  Go  back,"  lie  said,  after  a  while,  to  the  negro  ;  "  go  back 
and  tell  Airnest  that  you've  seen  me,  and  that  all's  well.  Tell 
him  I'll  go  my  death  for  him,  and  do  my  best  to  git  others, 
though  the  time  is  monstrous  short." 

"  You  guine  git  'em  clear,  Mass  Wedderspoon,  from  de  d d 

hook-nose  tory  ?"  asked  the  negro. 

"  I'll  try,  Scip,  by  the  Etamal !" 

"Da's  a  gempleman,  But  dem  little  guns  —  da's  jist  what 
Mass  Airnest  want.  He  must  hab  something,  Mass  Wedder 
spoon,'  for  hole  he  own  wid  dem  tory.  Put  de  bullet  in  de 
rnout'  of  de  pistol,  I'll  carry  um." 

"  'Spose  they  find  'em  on  you,  Scip?" 

"  Enty  I  fin  'em.  I  pick  um  up  in  de  path.  You  tink  dem 
tory  guine  catch  weasel  asleep,  when  he  'tan*  by  Scip.  No 
notion  ~ob  such  ting,  I  tell  you." 

The  scout  gave  him  both  pistols,  which  the  negro  immedi 
ately  lashed  about  his  middle,  carefully  concealing  them  from 
•.xposure  by  the  thick  waistband  of  his  pantaloons. 

"Now  go,  Scip  —  go  back  to  Airnest,  and  tell  aim  I've  set 
ny  teeth  to  help  him,  and  do  what  he  a:xes.  I'm  guine  back 
now  to  the  boys  in  camp,  and  I  reckon  it  won't  be  too  much 
to  say  that  Major  Singleton  will  bring  a  smart  chance  of  us  tc 


396  MELLIOHAMPK. 

do  the  d  —  dest,  by  a  lectle;  that  evfcr  yet  was  done  to  help  a 
friend  out  of  a  hobble." 

They  separated  —  one  seeking  the  camp  of  Barsfield,  the 
other  that  of  Marion,  which,  at  this  time,  a  few  miles  onlj 
divided. 


REMOBSE. 


397 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

/ 

REMORSE.  • 

THE  absence  of  Blonay  occasioned  no  small  annoyance  to 
all  the  leading  parties  at  "  Piney  Grove."  Suspicious  of  all 
tilings  and  persons,  the  tory  captain,  who  depended  for  tin 
prosecution  of  his  scheme  upon  Blonay 's  ministry,  began  if 
fear  that  the  half-breed  was  playing  him  false.  Not  confidinr 
to  him  at  first,  under  a  doubt  of  his  integrity,  the  suspicion'! 
of  Janet  and  Mellichampe  were  duly  increased  by  his  absence. 
Neither  of  these  parties  seemed  to  think  of  the  possibility  o.' 
evil  having  befallen  him.  It  was  more  natural,  he  was  so  low 
and  destitute,  to  think  of  his  evil  nature  rather  than  of  his  hu 
man  liability  to  mishap. 

But  Barsfield  made  his  preparations,  notwithstanding  the 
absence  of  his  ally.  He  had  already  chosen  a  certain  number 
of  his*  more  resolute  and  ready  men,  to  whom  certain  stations 
were  to  be  assigned,  along  where  the  course  of  Mellichampe  lay, 
under  the  guidance  of  the  half-breed.  The  tory,  however,  had 
not  communicated  anything  calculated  to  arouse  the  suspicions 
of  those  whom  he  employed.  That  communication  was  left  over 
for  the  last  moment.  He  simply  prescribed  their  places  of 
watch,  and  commanded  the  utmost  vigilance. 

There  was  another  order  given  about  this  time  by  Captain 
Barsfield,  which  had  its  annoyances  for  other  parties  in  our 
narrative.  To  Lieutenant  Clayton  was  assigned  the  duty, 
with  a  small  escort,-  of  conveying  Mellichampe  for  trial  to 
Charleston,  in  the  beginning  of  the  ensuing  week.  This  order 
produced  some  little  sensation. 

"And  you  really  leave  'Piney  Grove'  so  soon,  Lieutenant 
Clayton]"  was  the  inquiry  of  Rose  Duncan  that  evening, 


MELLICHAMPE. 

shortly  after  tea  was  over,  of  the  hitherto  gay  gallant  who  sat 
beside  her.  The  old  gentleman,  Mr.  Berkeley  —  as  had  been 
usual  with  him  for  sometime  past  —  had  retired  early.  His 
daughter,  as  a  matter  now  of  course,  was  with  her  lover  ;  and 
Rose  and  Clayton  as  was  much  the  case  since  the  capture  of 
Mellichampe,  were  tete-a-tete.  There  was  nothing  in  the  words 
themselves  indicative  of  more  than  a  common  feeling  of  curi 
osity —  nothing,  perhaps,  in  the  manner  of  their  expression; 
and  yet  the  lieutenant  could  not  help  the  fancy  that  persuaded 
him  to  think  that  there  was  a  hesitating  thickness  of  voice  in 
the  utterance  of  the  speaker,  that  spoke  of  a  present  emotion. 
His  eyes  were  at  once  turned  searchingly  upon  her  face,  as  lie 
listened  to  the  flattering  inquiry,  and  her  own  sank  to  the 
ground  beneath  his  gaze.  He  replied  after  the  pause  of  a  sin 
gle  instant. 

"If  I  could  persuade  myself,  Miss  Duncan,  that  you  shared 
in  any  degree  the  regret  which  I  feel  at  leaving  '  Piney  Grove* 
though  it  would  greatly  increase  iny  reluctance  to  do  so,  it 
would  afford  me  no  small  consolation  during  my  absence." 

The  lieutenant  began  to  look  serious  and  sentimental,  and 
the  maiden  recovered  her  caprice.  Her  answer  was  full  of 
girlish  simplicity,  while  her  manner  was  most  annoying,  arch, 
and  satirical. 

"  Well,  I  do,  Mr.  Clayton  —  I  do  regret  your  going  —  that  I 
do,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  Bless  me,  what  should  I 
have  done  all  this  time  but  for  you  ?  —  how  monstrous  dull  must 
have  been  these  hours.  I  really  shall  miss  you  very  much." 

The  lieutenant  was  disappointed.  He  had  not  looked  for  a 
transition  so  sudden,  in  the  voice,  words,  and  manner  of  his 
fair  but  capricious  companion ;  and,  for  a  moment,  he  was 
something  daunted.  But,  recovering  himself  with  an  effort,  as 
from  frequent  intercourse  he  had  discovered  that  the  only  way 
to  contend  with  one  of  her  character  was  to  assume  some  of  its 
features,  he  proceeded  to  reply  in  a  manner  which  had  the 
effect  of  compelling  her  somewhat  to  resume  that  momentary 
gravity  of  demeanor  which  had  accompanied  her  first  speech  ; 
and  which,  as  it  was  unfrequent,  he  had  found,  in  her,  rathei 
interesting. 


KEMORSE,  399 

"  But  I  have  a  consolation  in  my  exile,  Miss  Duncan,  since 
it  is  to  a  city  full  of  the  fair;  and  dances  and  flirtations  every 
night  in  Charleston,  with  the  young,  the  rich,  and  the  beauti 
ful,  should  compensate  one  amply  for  the  loss  —  ay,  even  for  the 
loss  —  temporary  though  I  hope  it  may  be  —  of  the  fair  Miss 
Duncan  herself." 

"  Treason  —  treason  —  a  most  flagrant  rebellion,  and  worthy 
of  condign  punishment,"  was  the  prompt  reply  of  the  maiden; 
though  it  evidently  called  for  no  inconsiderable  effort  on  her 
part  to  respond  so  readily,  and  to  dissipate  the  cloudy  expres 
sion  just  then  coming  over  her  face  again.  She  was  about  to 
continue  her  reply,  and,  moved  by  some  uncertain  feeling, 
Lieutenant  Clayton  had  transferred  himself  from  a  neighboring 
chair  to  a  seat  on  the  sofa  beside  her,  when  Janet  Berkeley 
entered  the  room.  Her  appearance  produced  a  visible  con 
straint  upon  both  the  parties,  and  she  saw  at  a  glance  that  she 
was  unnecessary  to  their  conference.  She  did  not  seem  to  re 
mark  them,  however ;  and,  though  she  perceived  that  a  new 
interest  was  awakened  in  their  mutual  minds  for  eacli  other, 
she  had  no  time  to  give  to  reflection  on  this  subject;  nor,  in 
deed,  have  we.  She  left  the  room  after  getting  what  she 
sought,  and  returned  to  the  apartment  of  Mellichampe.  Slie 
had  scarcely  done  so,  when  Barsfield  joined  the  two,  and 
offered,  another  obstacle  to  a  conversation  which,  to  both  par 
ties,  had  promised  to  become  so  interesting. 

So  much  for  the  condition  of  things  in  the  camp  of  the  tory. 
In  that  of  the  partisan,  affairs  were  even  more  promising. 
Witherspoon  reached  it  in  no  long  time  after  his  interview 
had  taken  place  with  Scipio.  lie  immediately  sought  out  his 
superior.  Major  Singleton  was  the  individual  to  whom  he  made 
his  communication  :  and,  through  him,  the  paper  sent"  by  Mel 
lichampe,  and  the  facts  furnished  by  the  scout,  were  (Inly  put 
in  Marion's  possession.  The  words  of  the  chief  were  few  — his 
plans  soon  laid  —  his  decision  readiiy  adopted. 

"It  will  do,  Singleton,"  he  said,  with  a  lively  air  of  satis 
faction.  "  The  game  is  a  good  one,  and  only  requires  to  be 
played  with  spirit.  The  plan  promises  better  than  that  of 
llorry,  since  we  shall  now  not  only  n^ciir  Mellichampe,  I  think. 


4:00  MKU.ICIIAMI'E. 

-but  strike  a  fatal  blow  at  Barsfield's  position.  What  number 
of  loyalists  does  Thumbscrew  report  as  in  '  Piney  Grove'  since 
the  27th  ?" 

"  Eighty-six  have  gone  in  to  him  since  the  27th  —  thirty-two 
biifoi-e  —  and  the  troop  which  he  brought,  after  all  its  losses, 
could  scarcely  be  less  than  twenty  five." 

"Making  in  all — " 

"  One  hundred  and  forty-three,  rank  and  file." 

"Not  too  many  —  not  too  many,  major,  if  we  employ  the 
scheme.  What  say  you  ?" 

"I  think  not,  general.  Barsfielcl  will  concentrate  his  men, 
most  probably,  on  the  line  over  which  Mellichampe  is  to  be 
conducted.  That  direction  we  know  from  this  paper.  The 
advantage,  is  important  which  it  gives  us,  since  we  have  only 
to  plan  our  enterprise  so  as  to  avoid  this  —  fall  upon  other 
points  of  liis  cam]),  and  break  in  upon  his  ambush,  flank  and 
rear,  while  avoiding  his  front." 

"True,  Singleton  —  it  will  be  to  our  advantage  in  beating 
Barsfield,  I  grant  you  ;  but  not  in  serving  Mellichampe.  If  he 
keeps  this  line,  it  will  be  necessary  that  we  strike  a  moment 
before  he  approaches,  and  just  when  he  has  left  the  house,  or 
he  must  fall  before  our  help  would  avail  him,  coming  in  from 
flank  and  rear.  We  must  confound  the  ambush  in  part  —  we 
must  keep  the  whole  camp  of  the  tory  alive  by  a  concerted 
attack  at  all  points,  in  front  not  less  than  in  rear,  or  we  lose 
Mellichampe,  though  we  gain  the  fight." 

Singleton  acknowledged  the  difficulty. 

"  If,"  resumed  Marion,  "  if  Mellichampe  would  only  think  to 
avoid  the  track  prescribed  by  his  confederate,  and  force  him 
to  go  aside  upon  another  route,  however  slight  the  variation, 
it  would  yet  serve  us,  and  we  might  save  him.'' 

"I  doubt  not,  general,  that  he  will  think  of  this;  he  is 
wonderfully  shrewd  in  such  matters,  though  rash  and  thought 
less  enough  in  others.  I  think  we  may  rely  upon  him  that 
he  will." 

*'  We  must  hope  for  it,  at  least,"  said  Marion.  "  The  affair 
looks  promising  enough  in  all  other  respects,  and  we  must 
drive  our  whole  force  to  the  adventure.  We  have  been  cooped 


REMORSE.  4:01 

up  long  enough.  Go,  Singleton,  order  in  your  reniute  scouts. 
Get  all  your  men  in  readiness,  and  send  your  lieutenant,  Hum 
phries,  to  me.  I  have  some  instructions  for  him.  I  will  lead 
in  this  business  myself." 

Singleton  proceeded  to  the  spot  where  Humphries  usually 
slept,  but  he  was  not  to  be  found.  Let  us  account  for  his 
absence. 

Humphries,  secure  of  his  enemy,  excited  by  the  trying  scene 
through  which  he  had  passed,  and  scarcely  less  so  by  the 
novel  form  of  death  to  which  circumstances  had  prompted  him 
to  devote  his  victim,  returned  to  the  camp  in  a  state  of  the 
utmost  mental  agitation.  It  was  yet  daylight,  and  sundry  lit 
tle  duties  in  the  camp  called  for  his  attention.  These  he  per 
formed  almost  unconsciously.  His  thoughts  were  elsewhere. 
An  excitation  of  feeling,  which  sometimes  moved  him  like 
insanity,  disturbed  his  judgment,  and  affected  the  coherence 
and  the  regularity  of  his  movements.  In  this  state  of  mind, 
with  just  enough  of  consciousness  to  feel  that  lie  was  wander 
ing,  and  that  he  needed  repose,  he  made  his  way  about  dusk 
from  the  observation  of  the  camp,  and  seeking  out  a  little 
bank  in  the  swamp,  with  which  he  was  familiar,  where,  he 
might  sleep  in  secresy,  he  threw  himself  under  a  tree  and 
strove  to  forget  the  past.  Shutting  his  eyes,  he  hoped  in  this 
way  to  shut  out  all  the  images  of  strife  and  terror  which  yet 
continued  to  annoy  him. 

He  succeeded  in  his  desire,  and  at  length  slept.  But  liis 
sleep  was  more  full  of  terrors  than  his  Avaking  thoughts.  He 
dreamed,  and  the  horror  of  his  dreams  aroused  him.  He 
heard  the  cries  of  the  victim  whom  he  had  buried  Avhile  ye'« 
alive.  His  dreadful  shrieks  rang  in  his  ears;  and,  bursting 
from  their  sockets  in  blood,  he  saw  the  goggle-eyes  looking 
down  upon  him,  through  the  crevice  in  the  cypress  where  he 
had  last  seen  them.  This  was  not  long  to  be  endured.  lie 
started  from  his  sleep  —  from  his  place  of  repose  —  and  stood 
upon  his  fo.e.t.  Had  he  slept?  This  was  doubtful  to  him,  so 
vivid,  so  imposing  and  real,  had  been  the  forms  and  fancies  of 
his  vision.  But  the  night  had  fairly  set  in,  and  this  convinced 
him  that  he  had  slept.  A  faint  light  from  the  stars  came  scat 


4-OJ  MKLLICIIAMI'K. 

teretl  and  tremblingly  through  the  leaves,  that  complained  IL 
the  cool  wind  of  evening  that  fitfully  stole  among  them.  The 
moon  was  just  rising,  and  gave  but  feeble  light.  The  heavy 
trees  seemed  to  dance  before  his  eyes;  huge  shadows  stalked 
gloomily  between  them,  and,  shuddering  with  bitter  thoughts 
and  terrifying  fancies,  the  stout  woodman,  for  a  few  moments, 
was  unmanned. 

"  I  can  bear  it  no  longer,"  he  cried  aloud,  in  his  disquiet. 
'  I  can  bear  it  no  longer.*' 

With  the  words  he  picked  up  his  rifle,  which  lay  upon  the 
-pot  where  he  had  lain  himself.  He  felt  for  the  knife  in  his 
belt,  and,  finding  that  his  equipment  was  complete,  he  moved 
away  with  the  haste  of  one  who  has  fully  resolved;  saddled 
hi.s  lmrse,  which  he  mounted  with  all  speed  ;  and,  barely 
replying  to  the  several  challenges  of  the  sentinels,  he  darted 
forth  upon  the  well-known  road.  The  relentless  spur  left  the 
stce.l  no  breathing  moment.  The  thoughts  of  the  trooper  ilevv 
fasti  r  than  he  could  drive  his  horse;  and,  though  going  at  the 
utmost  extent  of  his  powers,  the  impatient  trooper  chafed  that 
the  animal  went  so  slowly. 

The  well-known  swamp  entrance  was  in  sight;  the  cane- 
brake  was  passed ;  and  there,  rising  up  in  dreadful  silence, 
white  and  ghostlike  in  its  aspect  under  the  increasing  bright 
ness  of  the  moonlight,  stood  the  tall  cypress  in  which  his 
victim  was  buried.  The  steed  of  the  trooper  was  stopped 
suddenly  —  so  suddenly  that  he  almost  fell  back  upon  his 
haunches.  Ilis  rider  alighted  ;  but  for  some  moments,  frozen 
to  the  spot,  he  dared  not  approach  the  object  before  him. 
The  awful  stillness  of  the  scene  appalled  him.  lie  strove  to 
listen  :  he  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  heard  a  groan  — 
a  moan  —  a  sigh,  however  slight,  from  the  cavernous  body  of 
that  tree.  A  curse  —  ay,  though  the  wretch  within  had  again 
cursed  his  mother  —  would  have  been  grateful  to  the  senses 
and  the  heart  of  him  who  now  stood  gazing  upon  it  in  horror 
and  in  silence,  but  with  the  motionlessness  of  a  statue. 

He  recovered  strength  at  last  sufficient  to  advance.  He 
reached  the  tree.  The  wedges  which  secured  his  prisoner 
had  been  undisturbed.  He  put  his  ear  to  the  rough  bark  of 


RKMOKSK.  403 

its  sides,  Init  he  heard  no  .sounds  from  within.  lie  drew,  with 
desperate  hand,  the  pegs  from  the  upper  crevice,  and  fancied 
that  a  slight  breathing  followed  it  —  or  it  might  be  the  sough 
ing  of  the  wind,  suddenly  penetrating  the  aperture.  He  called 
aloud  to  the  inmate ;  he  shouted  with  his  mouth  pressed  to 
the  opening;  he  implored,  he  cursed  his  victim:  but  he  got 
no  answer. 

What  were  his  emotions  as  he  pulled,  with  a  giant's  muscle, 
the  hard  wedges  from  the  hollow  of  the  tree  below?  He  had 
slain  his  foe  in  battle  :  lie  had  killed,  without  remorse,  the  man 
who,  personally,  had  never  done  him  wrong.  Why  should  lie 
suffer  thus  from  the  just  punishment  of  a  vindictive  and  a 
sleepless  enemy  ?  lie  felt,  but  he  did  not  stop  to  analyze,  this 
subtilty.  He  tore  away  the  chunks  which  had  fastened  the 
opening,  and  thrust  his  hands  into  the  hollow.  The  legs  of 
the  half-breed  had  sunk  down  from  the  knohs  upon  which  they 
had  rested  while  he  was  capable  of  exertion,  and  they  were 
now  a  foot  deep  in  the  water  which  filled  the  hollow.  With 
both  hands,  and  the  exercise  of  all  his  strength,  Humphries 
succeeded  in  pulling  him  out  by  them.  The  body  was  lim 
ber,  and  made  no  effort  and  opposed  no  resistance.  Dragging 
him  through  the  water,  which  he  could  not  avoid,  the  partisan 
bore  him  to  the  bank,  upon  which  he  laid  him. 

As. yet  he  showed  no  signs  of  life  ;  and  the  labor  which  his 
enemy  had  taken  seemed  to  have  been  taken  in  vain ;  but  the 
fresh  air,  and  the  immersion  which  he  had  unavoidably  under 
gone  in  passing  through  the  water,  seemed  to  revive  him  —  so 
Humphries  thought,  as,  bending  over  him,  he  watched  his 
ghastly  features  in  the  moonlight.  lie  tore  open  the  jacket 
and  shirt  from  his  bosom,  and  felt  a  slight  pulsation  at  his 
heart.  Never  was  joy  more  perfect  than,  at  this  moment,  in 
the  bosom  of  the  partisan.  lie  laughed  with  the  first  convic 
tion  that  his  enemy  still  lived.  He  laughed  first,  loudly  and 
wildly,  and  then  the  tears,  an  unrestrainable  current,  flowed 
freely  from  his  eyes.  The  half-breed  continued  to  revive; 
and  Humphries  prayed  by  his  side,  as  fervently  as  if  praying 
in  the  last  moment  of  his  existence,  for  the  mercy  of  an 
offended  God. 


40*  MKLLTCHAMPE. 

He  strove  in  every  known  way  to  assist  the  workings  of 
nature  in  the  resuscitation  of  his  enemy.  He  fanned  him 
with  his  cap  —  he  sprinkled  him  freely  with  water,  and  spared 
no  means  supposed  in  his  mind  to  bo  beneficial,  to  bring 
about  the  perfect  restoration  of  his  victim. 

At  length  he  succeeded.  The  legs  of  the  half-breed  were, 
one  after  the  other,  suddenly  drawn  up,  then  relaxed  —  he 
sighed  deeply — and,  finally,  the  light  stole  into  his  glazed 
orbs,  as  if  it  had  been  some  blessed  charity  from  the  moon, 
that  now  glistened  over  them. 

As  he  continued  to  improve,  and  with  the  first  shoAv  of  con 
sciousness,  Humphries  lifted  him  higher  up  the  bank,  and  laid 
him  at  the  foot  of  a  shrub  tree  which  grew  at  hand.  He  then 
receded  from  him  to  a  little  distance  —  placed  himself  di 
rectly  before  his  eyes  —  resumed  his  rifle,  which  he  prepared 
and  presented,  and  thus,  squat  upon  one  knee  in  front  of  him, 
he  awaited  the  moment  of  perfect  recovery,  which  should  again, 
in  the  consciousness  of  new  life,  inform  him  at  the  same  time, 
of  the  presence  of  an  ancient  enemy. 

Thus  stationed,  he  watched  the  slowly  recovering  Blonay, 
for  the  space  of  half  an  hour,  in  silence  and  in  doubt.  The 
scene  was  a  strange  one  ;  and  to  his  mind,  not  yet  relieved 
from  the  previously  active  terrors  of  his  imagination,  an  awful 
and  imposing  one.  In  the  deep  habitual  gloom  of  that  swamp 
region,  among  its  flickering  shadows  —  girdled  by  its  thick 
and  oppressive  silence,  and  watching  its  skeleton  trees  until 
they  seemed  imbued  with  life,  and,  in  the  ghostly  and  increas 
ing  moonlight,  appeared  to  advance  upon,  and  then  to  recede 
away  from  him — he  felt,  at  every  moment  of  his  watch,  an 
increasing  and  superstitious  dread  of  all  things  and  thoughts, 
all  sounds  and  objects,  that  assailed  his  senses,  however  re 
motely,  and  roused  his  emotions,  however  slight.  And  as  the 
slow  consciousness  grew,  like  a  shadow  itself,  in  the  cheek  and 
eye  of  the  man  whom  he  had  so  lately  beheld  as  lifeless,  he 
half  doubted  whether  it  was  human,  and  not  spectral  life,  that 
he  now  beheld.  He  had  believed  that  an  evil  spirit  had  pos 
sessed  the  mangled  and  deformed  frame  of  the  man  before  him, 
and  was  now  beginning,  with  an  aspect  of  anxious  malignity, 


REMORSE.  4:05 

once  mrw  to  glare  forth  upon  him   from   the  starting  eyes  -jf 
the  half-breed. 

lie  shuddered  with  the  thought,  and  he  felt  that  his  grasp 
upon  his  rifle  grew  more  and  more  unsteady,  until  at  length  he 
almost  doubted  his  own  capacity  to  secure  a  certain  aim  upon  his 
enemy,  in  the  event  of  strife.  With  this  fear,  determined,  as  he 
was,  to  have  a  perfect  control  over  the  life  of  Blonay,  whatever 
might  be  the  movement  of  the  latter,  he  rose  from  the  spot 
where  he  watched,  and  approached  so  nigh  to  the  slowly  recov 
ering  man,  that  the  extended  rifle  nearly  touched  his  breast. 
At  that  moment  Blonay  started,  raised  his  head,  and,  half  sitting 
up,  gazed  wildly  upon  the  scene  around  him.  His  eye  caught 
that  of  Humphries  in  the  next  instant,  and  he  acknowledged 
the  presence  of  his  enemy  by  an  involuntary  start,  rising,  at  the 
same  moment,  to  a  full  sitting  posture,  and  answering  the  watch 
ful  glance  of  the  partisan  by  one  of  inquiry  and  astonishment, 
not  less  intense  in  its  character  than  that  which  he  enconn 
tered.  His  eye  next  rested  upon  his  own  rifle,  which  Hum 
phries  had  thrown  upon  the  bank,  in  the  full  glare  of  the 
moonlight,  and  his  body  involuntarily  inclined  toward  it 
With  the  movement  came  the  corresponding  one  of  the  parti 
san.  The  muzzle  of  his  weapon  almost  reached  Blonay'a 
breast,  and  the  lock  clicked  with  singular  emphasis,  in  the  gen 
eral  silence  of  the  scene,  as  Humphries  cocked  it. 

"  Stir  not,  Goggle  —  move  a  foot,  and  I'll  put  the  lead 
through  you.  It's  a  mercy  I  don't  do  it  now." 

Without  a  word,  Blonay  kept  his  position,  and  his  eye  met 
that  of  his  foe  without  fear,  though  with  the  utmost  passiveness 
of  expression.  Humphries  continued  — 

"You've  hunted  me  like  a  varmint  —  you've  pulled  trigger 
upon  me  —  I  have  your  mark,  and  will  carry  it,  I  reckon,  to  my 
grave.  There's  no  reason  why  I  should  let  you  run." 

He  paused,  as  if  awaiting  an  answer  but  the  stare  of  his 
enemy  alone  responded  to  his  speech. 

"What  do  you  say  now,  Blonay,  why  I  shouldn't  put  the 
bullet  into  you?  Speak  now  —  it's  only  civility." 

"  Adrat  it,  nothing,"  said  the  other,  drawing  up  his  legs. 

"You're  from  my  own  parish,  and  that's  one  reason,"  said 


406  MELLICH  ..:.'•':-.. 

Humphries,  "  that's  one  reason  why  I  want  to  give  you  fair 
play,  and  it's  reason  enough  why  I  don't  want  to  .spill  your 
blood.  Answer  me  now,  Goggle,  like  a  man  —  do  you  want 
mine?" 

lie  paused,  but  received  no  answer.      He  thus  proceeded  — 

"  I  had  you  safe  enough,  but  1  couldn't  find  it  in  my  heart 
to  take  your  life  after  that  fashion,  so  I  let  you  out.  Tell  me, 
now,  if  you  can  go  without  taking  tracks  after  me  again  ? 
Suppose  I  let  you  run  —  suppose  I  leave  you,  without  troubling 
you  now  with  this  lead,  that  only  waits  till  I  lift  this  finger  to 
go  through  your  skull  —  will  you  follow  me  again?  will  you 
come  hunting  for  my  blood  ?  Speak?  for  your  life  depends 
on  it." 

"  Adrat  it,  Bill  Humphries,  you've  got  the  gun,  and  you  say 
there's  a  bullet  in  it.  I'm  here  afore  you,  and  I  don't  dodge. 
I  ain't  afeard,"  was  the  reckless  and  seemingly  impatient  re 
sponse. 

"That's  as  much  as  to  say  that  you  wont  promise,  and  it's 
enough  to  satisfy  me  to  my  own  conscience  for  pulling  trigger 
upon  you  at  once.  But  I  won't.  I'll  give  you  a  chance  for 
your  life.  There  sli'all  be  fair  play  between  us.  Take  your 
rifle  —  there  it  lies  —  get  yourself  ready,  and  take  your  stand 
on  the  edge  of  the  bank,  and  then  be  as  quick  as  you  think 
proper,  for  the  first  one  to  cut  away  will  have  the  best  chance 
for  life." 

A  visible  change  came  over  the  features  of  the  half-breed 
as  he  listened  to  this  address.  His  head  dropped,  his  chin 
rested  upon  his  breast,  and,  without  any  other  answer,  he  sim 
ply  raised  the  hand  which  Humphries  had  mashed  so  remorse 
lessly  with  the  pine-knot,  when  its  owner  had  thrust  it  through 
the  crevice  of  the  tree.  He  raised  it,  and  in  the  action  showed 
his  enemy  how  utterly  impracticable  it  was  for  him  to  hold  the 
rifle  with  any  hope  of  its  -successful  use.  Humphries  was  si 
lenced,  and  his  o\vn  feelings  were  strongly  affected  when  he 
actually  beheld  a  tear  in  the  blear  eye  of  the  half-breed,  as  he 
looked  upon  the  maimed  and  utterly  helpless  member.  The 
privation  must  have  been  terrible  indeed,  to  extort  such  an  ac 
knowledgment  iron  one  so  inflexible.  It  certainly  was  the 


REMOKSK.  407 

greatest  evil  that  could  have  befallen  him,  to  lose  the  use  of 
the  weapon  on  which  so  much  depended  ;  and  then,  what  was 
his  mortification  to  submit  to  a  challenge  from  a  hated  enemy, 
his  weapon  and  his  foe  alike  at  hand,  unable  to  employ  the  one 
or  to  punish  the  other  ? 

The  rifle  of  Humphries  was  lowered  as  he  felt  the  full  force 
of  Blonay's  answer.  He  turned  away  to  conceal  his  own  emo 
tion. 

"  Go  !"  he  cried,  "  go,  Blonay  —  you  are  free  this  time.  1 
must  take  my  chance,  and  run  my  risk  of  your  taking  tracks 
after  me  again.  Go  now,  but  better  not  let  me  meet  you.  My 
blood  is  hotter  at  other  times  than  now.  I'm  sad  and  sorry 
now,  and  there's  something  to-night  in  the  woods  that  softens 
me.  and  I  can't  be  angry,  I  can't  spill  your  blood.  But  'twon't 
always  be  so  ;  and,  if  you're  wise,  you'll  take  the  back  tracks 
and  go  down  quietly  to  Dorchester." 

Without  waiting  for  any  answer,  the  partisan  hurried  through 
the  canebrake ;  and,  with  a  motion  less  rapid  than  that  which 
brought  him,  took  his  way  back  to  the  camp  of  Marion,  where 
he  arrived  not  a  moment  too  soon  for  the  most  active  prepara 
tion  and  employment. 

Bruised,  enfeebled,  almost  helpless,  the  half-breed  slowly 
returned  to  the  tory  encampment  at  "  Piney  Grove."  He 
appeared  before  Barsfield  at  early  morning  on  the  day  fol 
lowing  that,  the  circumstances  of  which  we  have  recorded. 
His  presence  quieted  the  anxieties,  as  it  met  the  desires,  of 
all  parties. 

"Your  hand — Avhat  is  the  matter  with  it?  why  is  it  bound 
up '?"  demanded  Barsfield.  • 

'  Mashed  It  with  a  piece  of  timVsr  ::-»  the  swamp,"  was  the 
vuiscrupuious  answer  of  the  half-breed,  who  suppressed  all  the 
particulars  of  his  affair  with  Humphries. 

"Any  luck  ?  —  met  with  your  man  ?"  was  the  further  ques 
tion. 

"No,"  was  the  ready  answer. 

"  You  are  ready  for  mine,  however  ?" 

"To-night  — yes." 

"At  midnight.     But  you   must  see   Miss  Berkeley — havg 


408  MEUJCHAMPE. 

everN  tiling-  well  understood,  so  that  there  will  be  no  confusion, 
no  delay.  She  does  not  suspect  —  she  seems  satisfied?" 

'•  Mighty  well  pleased." 

"  'Tis  well.  Thus,  then,  you  will  proceed.  The  sentine 
will  be  withdrawn  from  the  gallery,  and  you  shall  have,  at  (lie 
hour,  another  key  to  the  padlock.  Guide  him  forth  as  soon 
as  possible  after  the  withdrawal  of  the  sentinel:  yon  know 
the  course  ?" 

««  Yes  —  by  the  railing,  and  so  on  to  the  avenue." 

"Be  particular,  and  do  not  leave  the  track  for  an  instant. 
Go  now  —  I  shall  be  out  of  the  way  ;  seek  Miss  Berkeley,  and 
conclude  your  arrangements  with  her  for  to-night." 

The  half-breed  left  him. 

"  To-night !"  were  the  only  words  uttered  by  the  tory  as  he 
went  toward  the  outposts,  but  they  were  full  of  import,  and  his 
face  looked  everything  which  his  lips  forbore  to  utter. 


ESCAPE- 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

ESCAPE. 

THAT  day  was  spent  in  arrangements.  Barsfield  chose  his 
men  for  the  purposes  of  assassination  ;  but  he  did  not  surren 
der  his  secret  to  their  keeping.  He  was  too  wary  for  that. 
They  had  their  places  assigned  ;  and  all  that  he  condescended 
to  unfold  to  them,  by  way  of  accounting  for  the  special  ap 
pointment  and  the  earnest  commands  which  he  gave,  may  be 
comprised  in  few  words. 

"  I  suspect,"  said  he,  "  that  there  is  some  treason  among  us. 
I  suspect  the  scout  —  Blonay.  I  have  reason  to  think  he  pur 
poses,  either  this  night  or  the  next,  to  betray  the  camp  to 
Marion,  and  to  escape  with  the  spy  Mellichampe.  You  will, 
therefore,  preserve  the  utmost  watchfulness  upon  the  posts 
which  I  assign  you;  and  if  you  see  anything  to  alarm  you, 
anything  worthy  of  suspicion,  act  upon  it  decisively  and  with 
out  pause.  If  you  see  the  prisoner  with  the  scout,  spare  nei 
ther —  put  them  both  to  death.  To  seek  to  recapture  the  spy 
might  lose  him,  and  such  an  event  would  be  ruinous  and 
disgraceful.  I  trust  to  you,  men  —  you  will  do  your  duty." 

In  the  chamber  of  Mellichampe,  whose  fate  thus  hung  upon 
a  thread,  the  interest,  it  may  be  supposed,  was  not  less  impor 
tant  and  exciting.  Concealed  in  a  shawl  assumed  for  the 
purpose,  the  maiden  carried  to  her  lover  the  much-desired 
weapons  which  Scipio  had  received  from  Witherspoon.  The 
message  of  the  trusty  woodman  was  also  delivered  correctly, 
and  the  intelligence  strengthened  the  youth  accordingly,  and 
half-reconciled  Janet  to  the  experiment  which  she  so  much 
dreaded. 

"  This  is  well  — this  is  excellent !"  cried  Mellichampe,  grasp- 


410 


MELLICUAHPE. 


ing  the  pistols,  trying  tlic  charge,  and  examining  their  comb 
tion  —  "this  is  well;   both  loaded;   good  flints:  I  fear  nothing 
now,  Janet.     At  least,  I   am  ahle  to  fight  —  I  am  not  less  able 
to  destroy  than  my  enemies." 

She  turned  away  with  a  shudder:  but  she  felt  happier  and 
more  hopeful  as  she  beheld  his  exultation. 

Not  less  busy  in  the  carnp  of  Marion,  the  entire  force  of  the 
partisans  was  preparing  for  the  assault.  Every  available  arm 
was  required  for  the  service,  as  the  little  squad  of  the  "  swamp- 
fox"  at  this  period  barely  numbered  one  hundred  and  fifty 
men,  many  of  these  only  partially  armed,  and  some  of  them 
who  had  never  been  in  fight  before. 

"  Have  you  had  reports  from  the  scouts,  Major  Singleton  ?' 
demanded  the  general. 

"Not  yet,  sir.  I  have  sent  out  Humphries  and  Withei- 
spoon,  who  will  bring  us  special  accounts  by  noon.  We  shall 
have  time  enough  then  for  our  movement." 

"Quite  —  quite.  This  plan  of  Thumbscrew's  is  admirable. 
If  the  scouts  do  handsomely,  we  can  put  a  dead  shot  for  every 
sentinel  on  one  side  of  the  avenue.  It  can  scarcely  fail,  I 
think." 

"  Impossible,  sir  —  if  the  action  is  concerted,  and  I  think 
we  have  time  enough  to  make  it  so.  The  firing  of  the  tents 
must  follow  the  first  knowledge  we  have  of  Mellichampe's 
movement;  and  that  knowledge,  if  I  mistake  him  not,  we  shall 
have  as  soon  as  he  leaves  the  house,  for  Witherspoon  has  sent 
him  his  pistols.  When  the  alarm  is  given  by  the  blaze,  1  will 
charge  from  the  lower  bay  —  to  which  I  can  get,  with  all  my 
men,  by  nine  o'clock  —  moving  slowly,  and  without  detection. 
With  proper  firmness,  we  can  not  help  but  succeed." 

"  I  doubt  not  we  shall  do  so,  major  —  I  doubt  not  that  we 
shall  defeat  the  tory,  and  I  hope  annihilate  his  force;  but,  in 
that  first  moment.  I  dread  everything  for  Mellichampc.  The 
tory,  doubtless,  will  watch  every  step  which  he  takes,  and  he 
may  be  murdered  the  moment  after  he  leaves  the  house." 

"But  it  is  on  one  route  only  that  he  puts  his  guard.  'xv!y- 
ing  on  his  scout  as  faithful,  he  will  calculate  upon  his  bringing 
Mellichampo  into  his  very  jaws — " 


ESCAPE.  411 

"And  how  know  we  lliat  be  is  not  faithful  to  his  employer? 
What  reason  is  there  to  believe  him  friendly  to  Melliehampe  ? 
This  is  my  doubt.  So  long  as  Barsfield  can  pay  this  fellow  in 
solid  gold,  he  has  his  fidelity." 

"  Yes,  sir,  very  probably ;  but  I  scarcely  think  that  Melli 
ehampe  will  keep  the  one  track.  I  rely  greatly  on  his  saga 
city  in  all  matters  of  this  sort,  and  think  that  the  moment  he 
leaves  the  dwelling,  he  will  not  feel  himself  bound  to  follow 
the  lead  of  his  companion." 

"  I  hope  not,"  was  the  response  of  Marion  to  the  sanguine 
calculations  of  Major  Singleton  —  "I  hope  not,  but  I  appre 
hend  for  him.  We  must  do  our  best,  however,  and  look  to 
Good  Fortune  to  help  us  through  where  we  stumble.  But  no 
more.  See  now  to  your  further  preparations,  for  we  move  by 
dusk." 

The  affair  on  hand  impressed  no  one  more  seriously  with  its 
importance  than  Thumbscrew.  He  addressed  Major  Singleton 
the  moment  after  his  return,  bringing  the  desired  intelligence, 
which  he  did  at  noon.  He  addressed  him  to  solicit  what  he 
styled  a  favor. 

"  But  why  incur  a  danger  so  great,  and,  seemingly,  so  unne 
cessary  ?  I  see  no  use  for  it,  Thumbscrew." 

"No  use!  There's  use  for  it,  major,  and  satisfaction;  as 
fjr  danger,  I'm  a  born  danger  myself,  and  I  shouldn't  be  afraid 
to  stand  in  the  way  of  my  own  shadow.  But  I  don't  think 
there's  any  danger,  major;  to  cross  the  avenue  ain't  so  mighty 
hard  to  a  man  like  me,  that's  played,  in  my  time,  a  part  of 
every  beast,  and  bird,  and  crawling  critter  that's  known  to  a 
Santee  woodman.  I  can  pass  them  sentries  like  a  gust  from 
a  big-winged  bird,  and  so  they'll  think  rne.  I  can  git  into 
that  bay  without  Waking  a  blind  moscheto  ;  and,  once  I  gits 
there,  I  can  do  a  mighty  deal  now,  I  tell  you,  by  a  sartin 
whistle  which  I  has,  to  tell  Airnest  Melliehampe  where  to 
find  me." 

The  arguments  of  Witherspoon  soon  persuaded  his  superior, 
and  he  went  alone,  long  in  advance  of  the  partisans,  on  his 
individual  and  daring  adventure  He  gained  the  bay  with 
the  same  case  and  good  fortune  which  marked  his  progress  in 


MELLICIIAMrE. 

a  similar  effort,  which  we  have  previously  described.  There, 
he  waited  anxiously,  but  in  patience,  the  events  which  were  at 
hand. 

At  nightfall  the  partisans,  the  entire  force  of  Marion,  ap 
proached  "Piney  Grove"  —  not  so  near  as  to  be  subjected  to 
any  danger  of  discovery,  yet  sufficiently  so  to  be  in  readiness 
for  any  circumstance  which  might  suddenly  call  them  forward. 
In  a  deep  wood,  the  very  one  in  which  Scipio's  interview  had 
taken  place  with  Witherspoon,  they  alighted,  and  Marion  pro 
ceeded  to  divide  his  men  into  three  bodies.  To  one,  under 
command  of  Colonel  Ilorry,  he  assigned  the  task  of  firing  the 
tents  and  striking  at  the  main  post  of  the  encampment.  To 
another  troop,  acting  simply  as  cavalry  under  Major  Singleton, 
1*ie  gave  it  in  charge  to  attack  the  rear  by  a  sudden  and  fierce 
Dnset,  the  moment  that  Horry  should  commence  the  affair  — 
the  firing  of  the  tents  being  a  common  signal.  To  himself  he 
reserved  the  more  difficult,  if  not  more  dangerous,  task  of  dis 
tributing  his  men  as  riflemen,  in  front,  along  the  whole  line  of 
the  avenue,  prepared  to  commence  the  attack  in  that  quarter; 
and,  pressing  through  the  avenue  — having  first  slain  the  sen 
tinels,  each  man  of  whom  was  to  be  marked  out  by  a  corre 
sponding  rifleman  —  to  unite  with  the  other  two  bodies  near 
the  bay  so  frequently  spoken  of,  where  it  was  their  hope  to 
be  in  time  to  save  Mellichampe  from  the  knife  or  pistol  of  the 
prepared  assassins. 

This  arrangement  made,  Singleton's  troop  remounted  their 
horses,  and,  under  the  direction  of  their  leader,  made  a  wide 
circuit  around  the  camp,  so  as  to  throw  themselves  into  the 
thicket  lying  in  its  rear.  This  they  gained  before  the  moon 
rose.  The  men  commanded  by  Marion  and  Horry  fastened 
their  horses  securely  out  of  the  reach  of  danger,  and  pressed 
forward  on  foot  to  their  several  stations.  The  riflemen  stole 
individually  from  cover  to  cover,  until  they  ranged  themselves 
along  the  whole  line  of  the  avenue,  and  looked  down  upon  the 
pacing  sentinels,  who  walked  their  rounds  all  unconscious  of 
the  lurking  death  which  lay  hovering  in  dreadful  silence,  and 
unseen  around  them.  Each  partisan  in  this  way  had  selected 
his  victim  and  the  "swamp-fox"  himself,  lying  along  a  little 


EBCAPK.  41? 

ditch  overgrown  with  weeds  half  full  of  water,  lay  as  secretly 
and  still  as  ever  did  the  adroit  animal  whose  name  had  heen 
assigned  him. 

The  hour  was  approaching.  Barsfield  had  set  his  snare, 
and  was  impatient, 

"  Go  now,  and  bring  him  forth,"  he  said  to  Blonay.  "  The 
time  is  close  at  hand." 

The  half-breed,  obedient  to  his  will,  left  him  on  the  instant. 

"He  is  mine  at  last!"  was  the  triumphant  thought  which 
the  tory  muttered  at  that  moment  to  himself.  "The  toil 
will  soon  bo  over,  and  I  shall  triumph  now  —  I  will  bathe  my 
feet  in  his  blood." 

He  went  the  rounds  of  the  men  whom  he  had  stationed  on 
the  watch  for  his  victim.  Some  were  immediately  around  the 
house,  though  not  known  to  Blonay.  Barsfield  anticipated  the 
possibility  of  the  fugitive's  taking  another  direction  than  that 
which  he  had  prescribed.  For  this  possibility  he  had  pre 
pared.  He  was  resolved  that  his  plan  should  not  fail  through 
want  of  due  precautions.  He  saw  that  all  were  in  readiness; 
and,  not  remote,  he  took  a  station  for  himself  which  would 
enable  him,  as  soon  as  the  deed  was  done,  to  gratify  himself 
with  the  sight  of  his  murdered  victim. 

"Hist!  hem  S"  were  the  sounds  that  saluted  Mellichampe 
at  the  door  of  his  chamber.  The  hour  had  rome.  In  the 
next  instant  the  door  was  unlocked,  and  with  a  fearless  heart, 
having  his  pistols  ready  in  his  grasp,  he  met  his  guide  at  the 
entrance. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Blonay  T'  was  his  question,  as  the  darkness 
of  the  passage-way  did  not  permit  him  to  distinguish  features. 
The  reply  was  affirmative. 

"  I  am  ready,"  said  the  youth.     "  Lead  on." 

"  Go  not  —  go  not,  dear  Ernest !"  cried  Janet  Berkeley,  who 
was  also  watchful :  "Go  not,  I  pray  you ;  it  is  not  too  late; 
return  to  your  chamber,  for  I  dread  me  of  this  trial.  It  will 
be  fatal ;  you  can  not  escape  these  assassins,  and  the  night  is 
FO  bright  and  clear — " 

"  Hush  !"  he  whispered  —  "  see  you  not?"  and  he  pointed  to 
Blonay. 


4:1 4-  MELLICIIAMPE. 

"  I  know —  1  know  ;  but  trust  not  —  risk  not,  I  implore'  you 
Ernest.  Mr.  Blonay  knows  — he  says  that  there  is  danger 
He  told  me  so  but  this  moment." 

"Nay,  Janet;  but  you  are  too  apprehensive.  I  know  the 
skill  of  Mr.  Blonay  ;  he  can  help  rne  through  the  danger,  and 
I  fear  it  not." 

"But,  dear  Ernest — " 

He  interrupted  her,  as,  passing  his  arm  about  her  waist,  he 
bent  down  and  whispered  in  her  ears:  — 

"Would  you  prefer  to  see  me  hanging  from  a  tree?  Re 
member,  Janet,  this  is  my  only  hope." 

"God  help  me!  God  be  with  you,  and  save  you!"  she 
exclaimed. 

He  folded  her  to  his  bosom,  and  oh  !  the  agony  of  doubt 
tl.at  assailed  both  hearts  at  that  instant.  It  might  be  the  last 
embrace  that  they  should  take  in  life.  A  mutual  thought  of 
this  nature  produced  a  mutual  shudder  at  the  same  moment 
in  their  forms. 

"One  —  one  more,  my  beloved!"  he  cried,  as  they  parted; 
snd,  in  another  instant,  he  was  gone  from  sight.  She  sank 
down  where  he  left  her.  Her  hands  were  clasped,  and,  too 
feeble  for  effort,  yet  too  alive  to  her  anxieties  to  faint  into 
forgetfulness,  she  strove,  but  how  vainly,  even  where  she  lay, 
fco  pray  for  his  safety 


THE    PINE- KNOT.  415 


CHAPTER    L 

THE    PINE-KNOT. 

IT  was  with  conflicting  emotions  and  an  excited  pulse  that 
Melliehampe  hurried  away  from  the  embrace  of  the  maiden, 
possibly  the  very  last  that  he  should  ever  be  permitted  to 
enjoy.  In  another  moment,  and  the  woods  were  before  his 
eyes;  and  he  now  felt  assured  that  every  step  which  be  took 
from  the  dwelling  must  be  taken  in  sight  of  his  enemies.  Yet 
he  did  not  the  less  boldly  descend  from  the  threshold,  though 
he  believed  that  with  every  movement  he  came  nigher  his 
murderer.  He  did  not  deceive  himself  with  idle  hopes  of  the 
forbearance  and  tender  mercy  of  his  foe ;  yet  he  was  resolute 
to  struggle  to  the  last:  he  was  prepared  for  anything  but 
martyrdom. 

Scarcely  had  he  stepped  from  the  door  of  the  dwelling  into 
the  shadow  of  a  little  clump  of  trees  that  lay  before  it,  when 
he  heard  the  well-known  whistle  of  Witherspoon.  He  could 
not  mistake  the  sounds,  and  they  came  with  a  most  cheering 
and  refreshing  influence  upon  his  senses. 

"  Trusty  and  brave  Jack  !"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  lis 
tened,  "  at  least  I  shall  have  one  true  and  strong  arm  to  help 
ine  in  the  struggle.  I  am  not  alone." 

The  repeated  sounds  guided  him  in  his  progress.  He  could 
not  be  mistaken  now  in  their  direction  ;  he  felt  certair  that 
they  came  from  the  little  bay,  which  he  well  knew  could  easi 
ly  conceal  the  scout  so  long  as  it  continued  unsuspected.  He 
turned  quickly  in  the  direction  of  the  sounds.  Blonay  touched 
his  arm  — 

"  This  way,  sir,"  said  the  half-breed,  in  a  whisper. 

"No,  sir,  this  way  !"  sternly,  but  in   a  similar  whisper,  re- 


416  MKLLICHAMPE. 

gponded  Mellichampe.     "  This  way,  sir,  as  I  bid 
with  me  ii>  tliis  direction,  or  you  die." 

"  But,  cappin — "  said  the  other,  hesitatingly. 

"  No  words  —  I  trust  you  not  —  on  !" 

The  muttered  and  decisive  language  was  amply  seconded 
by  the  action  of  the  speaker.  One  hand  grasped  the  maimed 
wrist  of  the  half-breed,  the  other  held  in  the  same  moment  the 
cocked  pistol  to  his  eyes.  Wincing  under  the  pain  which  the 
sudden  seizure  of  his  injured  Jiand  by  that  of  Mellichampe 
had  necessarily  occasioned,  the  fierce  savage,  with  the  other, 
grasped  his  knife,  and  half  drew  it  from  the  sheath.  But  the 
momentary  anger  seemed  to  pass  away  before  he  had  fully 
bared  it.  He  thrust  it  back  again,  and  calmly  replied  to  his 
irritable  companion  — 

"  You  can  trust  me,  cappin  ;  I'll  go  jist  as  you  tells  me,  for 
I  promised  the  gal  —  she's  a  good  gal  —  I  promised  her  to  do 
the  best,  and  I'll  do  jist  as  you  says.  Lead  on  where  you 
wants  to  go." 

"  No,  no,  do  you  lead  on,  sir  ;  I  will  not  trust  you.  To  the 
bay,  but  keep  the  trees,  and  do  not  show  your  person  unneces 
sarily.  On,  sir,  the  moment  you  go  aside,  I  shoot  you  down 
like  a  dog." 

The  words  were  of  fierce  character,  and  uttered  with  singu 
lar  emphasis,  but  still  in  a  whisper.  The  half-breed  by  no 
means  relished  the  manner  of  Mellichampe,  but  he  muttered 
to  himself — 

"  I  promised  her  —  she's  a  good  gal — " 

And  thus  reminding  himself  of  his  pledges,  he  prepared  to 
go  forward. 

"  Keep  close  to  those  water  oaks,"  said  Mellichampe  to  his 
companion,  and  he  himself  sank  into  their  shadow  as  he 
spoke.  At  that  moment  another  whistle,  not  that  of  Marion's 
men,  came  from  the  path  which  they  had  left.  It  was  answered 
by  another,  a  few  paces  distant,  on  the  opposite  hand.  Melli 
champe  thrust  Blonay  forward,  and  they  both  moved  with  in 
creased  rapidity  along  the  range  of  water-oaks,  which  at  in 
tervals  afforded  them  a  tolerable  shelter.  Again  the  whistle 
was  repeated,  and  to  the  disquiet  of  the  fugitives,  it.  was  in 


THE    PINE-KNOT. 

stantly  answered  by  some    one  immediately  in  front  of  them, 
and  on  the  very  patli  they  were  pursuing. 

"  I  reckon  they've  found  us  out  — "  Blonay  began  to  speak, 
but  Mellichampe  interrupted  him. 

"  Silence,  sir,  no  word,  but  follow  me,"  and  the  youth  moved 
hurriedly  along,  still  upon  the  path  he  had  been  pursuing, 
but  looking  out  for  his  enemy,  and  cocking  his  pistol  in 
readiness.  A  bush  parted  and  waved  a  little  before  him,  and 
with  its  evident  motion  Mellichainpe  darted  aside.  In  the 
next  moment  came  the  shot,  and  immediately  succeeding 
the  report  the  youth  heard  a  gasping  exclamation  from  his 
companion,  by  which  he  knew  him  to  be  wounded  — 

"  Ah  !  it's  me,  it's  hit  me — " 

Looking  round,  he  saw  the  half-breed  fall  forward  upon 
his  face,  but  immediately  rise  upon  his  hands  and  knees, 
and  crawl  towards  a  little  cluster  of  bushes  which  rose  close 
ut  hand ;  where,  with  all  the  instinct  of  an  Indian,  even 
after  receiving  his  death-wound,  he  labored  to  conceal  himself. 

The  case  was  evidently  a  desperate  one.  The  youth  wa<? 
surrounded  by  his  enemies;  and,  unless  the  diversion  of  the 
partisans  was  made  promptly,  he  felt  that  he  must  be,  in  a 
few  moments,  in  the  power  of  his  murderers.  The  shot  had 
scarce  been  fired,  and  the  exclamation  of  the  wounded  man 
uttered,  when  he  heard  a  rush  as  of  several  pursuers  from 
behind.  He  did  not  wait,  but  bounded  forward,  for  he  knew 
that  his  friends  were  in  front,  and  to  perish  in  the  general 
combat  would  be  infinitely  better  than  any  other  hazard. 
3ut  he  was  not  allowed  so  readily  to  go  forward.  With  his 
irst  movement  from  the  tree  which  had  covered  him  at  the 
moment  when  Blonay  fell,  the  assassin  rushed  out  upon  his 
path,  with  a  recklessness  which  showed  that  he  believed 
Mellichainpe  to  be  unarmed.  He  paid  for  his  temerity  with 
his  life ;  at  five  paces,  and  before  he  could  recover  from  hio 
error,  the  youth  shot  him  through  the  breast.  The  man 
staggered  out  of  his  path,  and  fell  without  farther  effort,  cry 
ing  aloud  — 

**  Tie  spy—  the  spy  he's  gone  !  to  the  bay  !  Oh  !  I'm  a 
dead  man  1" 

18* 


418  MKLLTCIIAMPK. 

While  lie  was  yet  falling,  Mellichampe  hurled  the  empty 
pistol  into  his  face,  and  drawing  the  second  and  last  from 
his  bosom,  cocked  it  instantly  for  immediate  use,  and  hur 
ried  on  toward  the  bay,  which  yet  lay  at  some  little  distance 
beyond  him.  The  rushing  and  the  shouting  of  the  tories,  on 
every  hand,  informed  him  of  the  close  watch  which  had  been 
kept  upon  his  movements.  The  voice  of  Barsfield  was  also 
heard  above  the  clamor,  in  furious  exhortation  — 

"  The  spy  has  escaped  with  the  half-breed  ;  shoot  them 
both  down  —  let  neither  escape  —  but  fail  not  to  kill  the  spy  ; 
no  quarter  to  him  !  five  guineas  to  the  man  who  kills  him  !" 

"  He  is  here  !"  cried  one,  dragging  the  still  living  but  mor 
tally  wounded  Blonay  from  the  bush  where  he  had  concealed 
himself. 

"  Ha!  where?"  was  the  demand  of  Barsfield,  rushing  to  the 
spot  where  he  lay.  Without  looking  he  plunged  his  sword 
into  the  body,  and  felt  the  last  convulsion  as  the  victim  writh 
ed  around  the  blade.  But  he  spurned  the  carcass  with  his 
foot  the  next  moment,  when  he  discovered  that  the  scout, 
and  not  Mellichampe,  lay  before  him.  With  a  fierce  shout 
he  led  and  hurried  the  pursuit,  impetuously  dashing  forward 
with  all  the  fury  of  one  who,  having  been  certain  of  his 
victim,  now  begins  to  apprehend  disappointment. 

"  Death  to  the  spy  !  pursue  !  Five  guineas  to  him  who  kills 
him  !  No  quarter  to  the  spy  !" 

Such  were  his  cries  to  his  men  as  he  himself  pursued.  They 
reached  the  ears  of  Mellichampe  —  they  aroused  him  to  a  like 
fury.  Desperate  and  enraged,  his  temper  became  unrestrain- 
able,  and,  though  imprudent  in  the  last  degree,  he  shouted 
back,  even  as  he  fled,  his  defiance  to  his  foes.  The  whis 
tle  of  Witherspoon  fortunately  reached  his  ear  in  that  mo 
ment,  and  guided  him  on  his  flight.  His  voice,  meanwhile, 
had  disclosed  the  direction  which  he  had  taken  to  those 
who  were  now  clamorously  pursuing  him.  But  the  pursuit 
was  arrested  at  the  luckiest  moment  for  the  fugitive.  The 
tents  were  now  blazing,  and  wild  cries  came  from  the  cen 
tre  of  the  encampment.  Clayton  rushed  across  the  path  of 
Barsfield. 


THE    PINE-KNOT. 

"  Stand  aside,  away  !  The  spy  —  slay  him  !  No  quarter  to 
the  spy  !"  cried  the  fierce  tory,  as  he  thrust  Clayton  out  of  his 
path,  his  eyes  glaring  like  balls  of  fire,' and  the  foam  gath 
ering  thick  around  his  mouth  and  almost  choking  his  utterance. 

"  What  is  all  this,  Captain  Barsfield  !"  cried  the  second  offi 
cer,  confusedly,  to  his  superior. 

"  Get  from  my  path  !  Stand  aside,  or  I  hew  thee  down.1" 
was  the  desperate  answer. 

"But  the  camp's  on  fire!"  said  the  lieutenant.  "The 
camp's  on  fire !"  was  the  general  cr-y  around  him. 

Barsfield  only  answered  by  pressing  forward  —  selfishly  pur 
suing  the  one  enemy,  who,  in  his  sight,  took  the  place  and 
preference  of  all  others.  Indeed,  at  that  moment,  he  did  not 
seern  to  be  conscious  of  any  other  object  or  duty  than  that  of 
arresting  Mellichampe. 

"The  spy  —  Mellichampe  —  he  has  seduced  the  sentinel  — 
he  is  fled  —  there  —  Lieutenant  Clayton  —  there— in  the  bay! 
Pursue  all,  and  kill  him.  No  quarter  to  the  spy!" 

"But  the  camp — "  said  Clayton. 

"Let  it  burn  !  Let  it  burn  !"  His  words  were  silenced  — 
drowned  in  the  sharp  and  repeated  shot  which  rang  along 
the  whole  line  of  the  avenue.  He  became  conscious  on  the 
instant,  for  the  first  time ;  and  now,  at  once,  conceived  the 
nature  of  that  concerted  combination  which  was  likely  to  de 
fraud  him  of  his  prey.  Still  he  did  not  conceive  the  assault  to 
be  made  by  any  large  force.  He  did  not  think  it  possible. 

"  A  surprise."  he  said  —  "  a  mere  diversion  to  help  the  spy. 
To  the  front,  Lieutenant  Clayton  —  send  your  loyalists  to  the 
avenue!  Line  the  front  —  it  will  soon  be  over  —  it  is  but  a 
straggling  squad.  Away  —  and  leave  me  for  the  spy.  I  will 
manage  him  with  these  three  men." 

The  coolness  of  Barsfield  seemed  to  have  come  back  to  him 
as  he  gave  these  orders.  But  his  rage  was  the  greater  from 
having  been  suppressed  so  long.  He  pressed  forward  to  the 
bay  with  the  three  men  who  were  with  him.  He  believed 
that  Clayton  would  soon  manage  the  foe  in  front ;  and  he  was 
resolved  upon  the  death  of  Mellichampe,  even  if  he  did  not. 
In  another  moment,  however,  he  was  convinced  that  it  was  no 


420  MELLICIIAMPE. 

random  attack,  simply  for  diversion,  from  a  small  sq  lad.  The 
clamor  was  that  of  a  large  force,  and  the  repeated  and  well- 
known  cry  of  the  partisans  followed  the  first  volley  of  the 
sharp-shooters. 

"Marion's  men  —  true  blues  —  true  hlues  !  Hurra!  no  quar 
ter —  Tarleton's  quarters  !  One  and  all,  Marion's  men  !" 

"  One  and  all,  men  !"  were  the  stern,  shrill  notes  that  fol 
lowed  the  cry. 

It  was  the  sharp  voice  of  Marion  himself,  and  it  was  heard 
distinctly  over  the  field:  the  sound  was  fitly  concluded  by  a 
second  volley  and  an  increasing  uproar. 

"He  is  there  witli  all  his  force!"  exclaimed  Barsfield  ;  "but 
no  matter.  I  can  not  turn  now,  and,  at  bast,  Mellichampe  is 
mine.  He  is  here  in  this  bay.  They  can  not  help  him  in 
season,  and  he  must  perish.  That  dom ,  I  care  not  if  Marion 
conquers  ;  we  can  but  become  his  prisoners." 

These  were  the  calculations  of  Barf.tield,  half  uttered  as  he 
pursued.  Mellichampe  was  immediately  before  him.  He  had 
heard  his  shout.  The  pursuers  were  now  on  the  edge  of  the 
bay  which  the  youth  had  entered. 

"  To  the  gum-trees,  Dexter,  and  watch  that  point  —  see  that 
he  does  not  gain  the  avenue.  Keep  him  from  crossing.  Pu* 
in  on  the  right,  Beach  am  ;  and  you.  Mason,  go  in  on  the  left. 
Spare  him  not!  Slay  him  like  a  dog!  No  quarter  to  the 
spy  !» 

These  were  his  rapid  orders  to  his  men  as  they  rushed  into 
the  close  but  narrow  thicket  which  was  called  the  bay. 

"  But  five  minutes !  give  me  that,"  muttered  Mellichampe 
to  himself,  "  and  I  ask  for  no  more.  But  where  can  "Wither- 
spoon  be  ?" 

The  next  moment  he  heard  the  whistle  of  his  friend  in  a 
denser  part  of  the  bay,  and  ho  hurried  with  a  new  joy  toward 
him. 

"  There  are  but  three  or  four;  and  if  we  can  but  join  first, 
we  may  give  them  work,"  cried  the  youth,  pressing  forward. 
But  Witherspoon  was  now  already  engaged.  His  voice  kept 
pace  in  company  with  his  sabre,  the  clashing  of  which  Melli- 
chainpe  L«ard  while  approaching  him.  The  woodman  had 


THE    PIJSTE-KNJT.  ±21 

encountered  one  of  the  pursuers.  The  affair,  however,  was 
soon  over.  The  man  had  met  a  s&bre  where  he  had  looked 
only  for  a  victim. 

"  It's  one  less  of  the  niggers,"  cried  Witherspoon,  aloud,  as 
he  struck  his  enemy  down  with  a  fatal  hlow.  "  Hello  !  Air- 
nest,  boy,  where  is  you?" 

But  the  youth  could  not  answer.  He  himself  was  about  to 
become  busily  engaged.  Barsfield  was  before  him,  and  be 
tween  him  and  Witherspoon.  Mellichampe  had  but  his  pistols 
and  he  determined,  as  he  saw  the  copse  disturbed  in  front,  to 
conceal  his  weapon,  as  he  hoped  that  Barsfield  would  precipi 
tate  himself  forward,  as  if  upon  an  unarmed  enemy,  when  he 
might  employ  it  suddenly  and  fatally.  Indeed,  he  had  no 
other  chance  for  life.  In  part,  his  plan  was  successful.  Tlio 
tory  leaped  forward  with  a  mad  fury  as  he  beheld  the  youth. 
His  sabre  was  waving  above  Mellichampe's  head,  when  the 
latter  sank  upon  his  knee  and  fired  —  unerringly,  but  not 
fatally. 

The  ball  penetrated  the  thigh  of  the  tory,  who  sank  down 
upon  him.  They  grappled  with  eacli  other  upon  the  ground, 
struggling  in  a  little  area  where  the  trees  seemed  to  have  been 
scooped  out,  as  it  were,  expressly  to  afford  them  room  for  a 
struggle  of  this  sort.  The  physical  power  of  Barsfield  was. 
naturally  greater  than  that  of  Mellichampe,  and  the  recent 
illness  of  the  youth  still  further  increased  the  inequalities 
between  them ;  but  Mellichampe  had  succeeded  in  grasping 
the  neckcloth  of  his  enemy,  while  the  latter  had  a  bold  only 
upon  one  wrist  and  part  of  the  dress  of  the  former.  They 
were  yet  struggling  upon  the  ground  without  advantage  to 
either,  when  one  of  Barsfield's  men  came  to  his  assistance. 

The  moment  was  full  of  peril  to  the  youth  ;  but  his  friend 
Witherspoon  was  no  less  prompt  to  succor  and  save,  than  {lie 
tory  to  destroy.  He  bounded  through  the  intervening  bushes 
in  time  to  neutralize  the  efforts  of  the  new-comer.  A  sabre- 
stroke  from  the  woodman  brought  him  to  the  ground,  and  dis 
abled  him  from  any  movement  toward  the  combatants ;  but, 
raising  a  pistol,  even  after  he  Lad  fallen,  before  Witherspoon 
could  help  Mellichampe  or  get  out  of  his  way,  lie  shot  him  in 


122  MELLICHAMPE. 

the  side.  Before  he  could  draw  a  second,  the  woodman  cut 
him  down.  He  had  hardly  done  BO,  when  a  faintness  came 
over  the  faithful  fellow :  he  leaned  against  a  tree,  then  sank 
nervelessly  to  the  ground, 

"  It's  a  tough  shot,  Airnest,  and  I  can't  help  you.  Who'd 
ha'  thought  it?  Ah!  it  bites!  But  hold  on,  Airnest — hold 
on,  hoy;  the  major  will  soon  come  to  pull  you  out  of  the  bear's 
claws." 

"  You  are  hurt,  Jack." 

"Reckon  I  am  —  a  bad  hurt  too,  Airnest,  if  one  may  tell  by 
the  sort  of  feeling  it  has." 

Without  a  word,  Barsfield  continued  the  struggle  the  more 
earnestly,  as  he  now  found  himself  becoming  faint  from  the 
wound  which  Mellichampe  had  inflicted.  The  youth  himsrlf 
grew  momently  less  and  less  able  to  resist  his  i'oe,  and  With- 
erspoon,  who  lay  but  a  few  feet  apart,  and  saw  the  mutual 
efforts  of  the  two,  could  lend  no  manner  of  assistance. 

The  object  of  the  tory  was  to  keep  Mellichampe  quiet  with 
one  hand,  while  he  shortened  his  sabre  with  the  other.  This, 
as  yet,  he  had  striven  fruitlessly  to  do.  The  youth,  who  saw 
his  aim,  had  addressed  all  his  energies  to  the  task  of  defeating 
it;  and,  when  pushed  away  by  Barsfield,  had  contrived,  by 
the  grasp  which  he  still  maintained  upon  the  neckcloth  of  the 
latter,  still  to  cling  so  closely  to  him  as  to  prevent  his  attain 
ment  of  the  desired  object.  While  the  struggle  thus  remained 
doubtful,  a  new  party  was  added  to  the  scene  in  the  person 
of  Scipio,  who  came  stealing  through  the  bushes.  He  had 
heard  the  clamor  in  that  direction  which  had  taken  place  at 
first,  and  the  subsequent  silence  frightened  him  still  more  than 
all  the  noise  of  the  previous  struggle.  He  came  to  gain  intel 
ligence  for  his  young  mistress,  whose  apprehensions,  though 
unuttered  ,in  language  or  even  in  tears,  were  only  silent  be- 
sause  they  were  untterable. 

Witherspoon  saw  the  negro  first. 

'•Ha,  Scip  —  nigger  — is  that  you?  Come  quick,  nigger, 
and  help  your  maussa.'* 

"Dah  him?  wha's  de  matter,  Mass  Wedderspoon — you 
hurt?" 


THE    PINE-KNOT.  423 

"Ask  no  questions,  you  black  rascal,  but  run  and  help 
Airnest:  don't  you  see  him  there,  fighting  with  the  tory  ?" 

"  Who  1  Mass  Airnest  —  fighting  wid  de  tory  —  hey  ?" 

The  negro  turned  his  eyes,  and  stood  in  amaze,  to  behold 
the  sort  of  contest  which  Mellichampe  and  Barsfield  carried 
on.  The  tory  first  addressed  him:  — 

"  Scipio,  run  to  Lieutenant  Clayton — " 

"Run  to  the  devil!"  cried  Witherspoon ;  "knock  him  on 
the  head,  Scipio,  and  save  your  master;  don't  let  him  talk." 

"  Only  say  de  wud,  Mass  Wedderspoon ;  say  de  wud,  Mass 
Arnest ;  you  say  I  mus*  knock  dis  tory  V 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,"  cried  Witherspoon,  in  a  rage. 

"If  you  dare,"  said  Barsfield,  "you'll  hang,  you  scoundrel. 
Beware  what  you  do!  —  fly — go  to  Lieutenant  Clayton — " 

The  negro  interrupted  him  :  — 

"  You  'tan'  fur  me,  Mass  Wedderspoon  —  you  tell  me  fur  do 
em,  I  do  'em  fur  true." 

"Do  it  —  do  it,  d — nyou!  don't  stand  about  it.  He  will 
kill  Ajrnest  if  you  don't ;  he'll  kill  us  all !" 

The  negro  seized  a  billet  —  a  ragged  knot  of  the  heaviest 
pine-wood  that  lay  at  hand  —  and  approached  the  two  where 
they  lay  struggling. 

"I  mos'  'fraid  —  he  dah  buckrah  —  I  dah  nigger." 

"  $trike  him !"  cried  Witherspoon,  writhing  forward  in  an 
agony  of  ercitement — "  strike  him,  Scip;  I'll  answer  for  you. 
boy." 

"  Hole  you  head  .:-.dc3;.%  Mass  Arnest,"  cried  the  negro ;  "  I 
feard  fur  hit  you/ 

"Will  you  dave,  Sclcio  —  will  you?  Strike  not,  Scipio; 
you  shall  Lave  your  freedom  —  gold  —  guineas,"  was  the  sup 
plicating  cry  of  Barsfield. 

"I  no  y ••••-/  you,  Mass  Barsfield:  you's  a  d — n  tory,  1 
know.  Din  daii  ;.cy  maussa ;  I  hab  fur  min*  uni." 

While  ho  sv/oke,  he  approached  and  planted  one  of  his  feet 
between  the  bodies  of  the  two  combatants. 

"Turn  you  eyes,  Mass  Arnest." 

The  heavy  piae-wood  knot,  was  lifted  above  the  head  of  the 
tory.  The  eyes  of  Mellichampe  were  averted,  while  Barsfield 


MKLLICHAMPE. 

vainly  strove  to  press  forward  as  closely  to  the  youth  as  pos 
sible,  and  once  or  twice  writhed  about  in  such  a  manner, 
though  the  grasp  of  Mellichampe  was  still  upon  his  collar,  as 
entirely  to  defeat  the  aim  of  the  negro. 

"  'Tan'  'till  —  I  mus  knock  you,  Mass  Barsfield." 

"  Scip  —  Scipio  !"  were  the  pleading  tones  of  the  tory,  as  he 
threw  up  his  arms  vainly.  The  blow  descended  and  silenced 
him  for  ever.  The  billet  was  buried  in  his  brains.  The  skull 
1  ly  crushed  and  flattened,  and  but  a  single  contraction  of  the 
Jimbs  and  convulsion  of  the  frame  attested  the  quick  transition 
'>f  life  to  death  —  so  dreadful  had  been  the  stroke.  Molli- 
champe  had  fainted. 

"Hurra!  hurra!  Well  done,  Scip  —  well  done!  you've 
saved  the  boy.  You're  a  nigger  among  a  thousand  !" 

The  tones  of  exultation  and  encouragement  came  faintly 
from  the  lips  of  the  woodman,  who  bled  inwardly.  They 
fell  upon  unheeding  senses;  for  the  stupefied  Scipio  at  that 
moment  heard  them  not. 


JACK    WITIIEESPOON. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

JACK    WITHERSPOON. 

THE  negro  dropped  the  heavy  pine-knot  with  the  blow,  and. 
for  a  moment  stood  gazing  in  stupor  upon  the  horrid  specta 
cle,  his  own  deed,  before  him.  At  length,  starting  away,  lie 
dashed  out  of  the  bushes,  in  the  direction  of  the  dwelling, 
crying  aloud  as  he  fled,  in  tones  like  those  of  a  maniac, 
and  in  words  which  indicated  the  intoxicating  effect  of  his 
new-born  experience  upon  him  — 

"  Ho  !  ho  !  I  kill  um  —  I  hit  um  on  he  head.     He's  a  dirt  — 
he's  a  dirt — -I  hab  foot  on  um  —  I  mash  he  brains.     Ho  !   ho  ! 
I   kill  buckrah.     I's  nigger  —  I   kill  buckrah  !     You  tin k  for 
hang  me  —  you  mistake.     Mass  Wedderspoon  say  de  wud  - 
Mass  Arnest  no  say  *  no.'     I  kill  'em.     He  dead  !" 

He  rushed  into  the  apartment  where  the  family  were  all  as 
sembled  in  the  highest  degree  of  agitation.  The  storm  of 
battle^  which  still  raged  around  them  with  unmitigated  fury, 
had  tei-rified  Mr.  Berkeley  and  Rose  Duncan  to  the  last  de 
gree.  They  appealed  to  Scipio  for  information,  but  he  gave 
them  no  heed. 

"  AVhay's  young  missis  1  young  missis  I  want.  I  hab  for  tell 
um  someting." 

He  refused  all  other  answer,  and  made  his  way  into  the 
adjoining  apartment.  Janet  was  at  the  window — that  near 
est  to  the  clamor  —  at  which,  through  another  dreadful  light, 
she  had  watched  unhesitatingly  before.  She  started  to  her 
feet  as  she  beheld  him. 

"  Ernest — speak  to  me,  Scipio.  What  of  Ernest7  Where 
is  he  ?  tell  me  he  is  safe." 

"  He  dead  !  I  kill  urn  ?" 


126  MKLLlCilAMl'Ji. 

She  shrieked  and  fell.  The  event  restored  the  negro  to  his 
senses.  He  picked  her  up,  howling  over  her  all  the  wh'.le, 
and  bore  her  to  the  adjoining  apartment,  where  the  care  of 
Rose  Duncan  in  a  short  time  recovered  her. 

"  Speak  to  me,  Scipio,"  she  cried,  rising,  and  addressing  him 
with  an  energy  which  despair  seemed  to  have  given  her, 
and  which  terrified  all  around — "Tell  me  all  —  what  of 
Ernest?  He  is  not  hurt  —  he  has  escaped  1  You  have  told 
me  falsely — he  lives  !" 

"  I  'speck  so,  missis ;  'tis  I's  a  d — n  fool  fur  tell  you  he 
been  hurt.  lie  no  hurt.  'Tis  Mass  Barsfield  I  been  knock  on 
de  head — " 

"  Barsfield  ! — you  !"  was  the  exclamation  of  all. 

"  Yes  —  de  d n  nigger  —  enty  he  been  hab  Arnest  'pon 

de  ground  ?  he  want  to  'tick  him  wid  he  sword.  I  take  light- 
wood-knot,  I  hammer  urn  on  he  head  tell  you  sees  noting  but 
de  blood  and  de  brain,  and  de  white  of  he  eye.  He  dead  — 
'tis  Scip  mash  um." 

"  You  struck  him,  Scipio  ?"  said  Mr.  Berkeley. 

"Mass  Wedderspoon  tell  me,  maussa.  Enty  he  been  guim 
'tick  Mass  Arnest  ?  When  I  see  dat,  I  'tan  look.  Jack  Wed 
derspoon  cuss  me,  and  say,  why  de  li-ll  you  no  knock  um  V 
Well,  wha'  I  for  do  ?  Enty  he  tell  me?  I  knock  um  fur  true! 
I  hit  um  on  he  head  wid  cle  pine-knot.  De  head  mash  flat  like 
pancake.  I  no  see  um  'gen." 

The  maidens  shuddered  at  the  narration,  but  Janet  spoke 
instantly. 

"  But  Ernest,  what  of  him,  Scipio  ?  Was  he  hurt  ?  You 
have  not  said,  is  he  safe  ?" 

"  I  sway,  missis,  I  can't  tell.  I  'speck  he  been  hurt  some- 
ting.  I  left  um  on  de  ground.  He  ain't  git  up." 

"  I  will  go,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Think  riot  of  it,  Janet,  my  child,  till  the  noise  is  over." 

But  she  had  gone  ;  while  the  father  yet  spake,  she  had  left 
the  room  and  the  house,  Scipio  closely  attending  her.  The 
feebleness  of  age  seemed  no  longer  to  oppress  the  aged  man. 
He  rushed  after  the  daughter  of  his  heart  with  much  of  the 
vigor  of  youth,  and  with  all  the  fearlessness  of  a  proper  man 


JACK    WITIlEKSroON.  427 

hood.  In  that  moment  her  worth  was  conspicuous,  in  his  for- 
geTfulness  of  all  fear  and  feebleness.  lie  heeded  not  the  cries 
and  the  clamor,  the  dreadful  imprecations  and  the  sharp  ring 
ing  shot,  which  momently  assailed  his  cars  in  his  progress. 
The  fight  was  still  going  on  along  the  avenue  and  in  the  park, 
but  its  fury  was  abating  fast.  Mr.  Berkeley  hurried  forward, 
but  soon  became  confused.  His  daughter  was  not  to  be  seen, 
nor  Scipio,  and  he  knew  not  in  what  direction  to  turn  his 
footsteps.  While  he  paused  and  doubted,  he  heard  the  rush 
of  cavalry,  like  the  sweeping  force  of  a  torrent  coming  down 
the  hills  at  midnight.  He  could  see,  in  the  bright  moonlight, 
the  dark  figures  and  their  shining  white  blades.  The  clashing 
of  steel  superseded  the  shot  of  the  marksmen,  and  the  horse 
men  now  evidently  swept  the  field  in  irresistible  wrath.  The 
toriea  were  flying  in  all  directions,  the  partisans  riding  over 
them  with  unsparing  hoofs,  and  smiting  down  with  impet 
uous  steel.  A  group  fled  toward  the  house,  and  came  di 
rectly  upon  the  spot  where  the  old  man's  feet  seemed  to  be 
frozen.  Timidly  he  shrank  behind  a  tree,  and,  as  the  cavalry 
pursued,  the  tories  broke,  and  dispersed  in  individual  flight. 
One  of  them,  an  officer,  sank  back  slowly,  and  with  an  air 
of  resolution  and  defiance  in  his  manner  which  soon  pro 
voked  the  attention  of  a  partisan  trooper.  He  pressed  for 
ward,  upon  the  Briton,  who  turned  gallantly  and  made  fight. 
The  huge-limbed  steed  of  the  partisan  was  wheeled  from 
side  to  side  under  the  curb  of  his  rider,  with  an  ease  that 
almost  seemed  the  result  of  an  instinct  of  his  own.  Neither 
the  steed  nor  his  rider  could  be  mistaken. 

"Yield  —  surrender,  sir  —  you  prolong  the  fight  uselessly 
Your  men  are  dispersed,"  were  the  words  of  Singleton. 

"  Never,  to  a  rebel !"  was  the  response  of  Clayton  ;  "  never!" 
and  he  struck  at  the  partisan  with  an  earnestness  and  skill 
as  he  replied,  which  showed  him  that  he  was  not  an  enemy 
to  be  trifled  with.  The  fierce  mood  of  Singleton  grew  upper 
most  as  he  witnessed  the  obduracy  of  the  Briton.  His  own 
blows  were  repeated  with  furious  energy,  and  the  retreat  of 
Clayton  wan  perforce,  more  rapid  than  before.  Backing,  and 
fighting  all  the  while,  his  feet  became  entangled  iu  some  oh- 


.MELLICHAMI'K. 

struction  behind  him,  and  he  stumbled  over  it  without  being 
able  to  recover  himself.  He  now  lay  at  the  mercy  of  his 
enemy. 

The  courtesy  of  Singleton  effected  what  his  valor  had  not 
done.  His  horse  was  curbed  in  the  instant  which  saw  Clayton 
fall.  The  point  of  his  sabre,  which  had  been  directed  toward, 
was  now  turned  from  his  bosom,  and  he  bade  him  rise.  The 
Briton  bowed,  and  presented  his  sword. 

"  Oblige  me  by  keeping  it,  sir,"  was  the  reply  of  the  partisan. 
"  Let  me  see  you  to  the  house  in  safety." 

The  only  inmate  of  the  house  who  received  Lieutenant  Clay 
ton  was  Rose  Duncan. 

"  I'm  a  prisoner,  Miss  Duncan,"  said  the  lieutenant,  and  it 
did  not  pain  him  greatly  to  tell  her  so. 

"  Indeed ;  I'm  so  glad  of  it,"  was  the  almost  unconscious 
reply. 

Clayton  looked  grave  as  she  said  so,  and  Major  Singleton 
withdrew,  leaving  him,  however,  not  so  dissatisfied  with  the 
general  tenor  of  events  as  might  have  been  expected.  It  was 
surprising  how  soon  he  forgot  that  he  was  a  prisoner,  and  how 
readily  Rose  became  his  custodier.  But  this  concerns  us  not. 

In  the  neighboring  court  the  bugle  of  Marion  called  his  men 
together.  The  battle  was  over.  The  victory  was  complete, 
and  the  only  concern  before  the  partisans  was  to  ascertain 
the  price  which  it  had  cost  them.  This  could  not  be  so 
readily  determined. 

"  But  what  tidings  of  Mcllichampe  ?"  demanded  Marion. 
"  Have  you  heard  nothing,  Major  Singleton  ?  This  was  your 
charge." 

"Nothing,  as  yet,  sir;  I  have  dispersed  my  men  in  search. 
It  is  unaccountable,  too,  that  we  have  heard  nothing  of  With- 
erspoon,  nor  has  Captain  Barsfield  been  reported.  The  com 
mand  does  not  seem  to  have  been  with  him.  Lieutenant 
Clayton  is  my  prisoner." 

While  they  yet  spoke,  the  whistle  of  Witherspoon — a 
faintly-uttered  note,  but  well  known  as  that  of  the  wood 
man —  came  to  them  from  the  bay.  To  this  point  they  in 
stantly  proceeded,  But  Janet  Berkeley  was  there  long  before 


JACK  wrniKRSPooN.  4:29 


them.     She  had   outstripped  oven  the  speed  of  Scipio  ; 
had  heard  and  been  guided  by  the  accents  of  her  lov 
as  she  entered  the  copse. 

"  Jack,  dear  Jack  —  Witherspoon,  my  friend,  my  more  than 
friend  —  my  father  —  speak  to  me!" 

It  was  thus  that  the  youth,  bending  over  his  prostrate  com 
panion,  expressed  his  agony  and  apprehension  at  the  condition 
in  which  he  found  him.  Witherspoon  bled  inwardly,  and 
could  scarcely  speak,  as  lie  was  in  momentary  danger  of  suf 
focation.  The  next  moment  the  arms  of  Janet  were  throwh 
about  her  lover,  whom  she  found  in  safety,  and  she  burst  into 
an  agony  of  tears,  which  at  length  relieved  her.  With  hei 
appearance,  the  strength  and  consciousness  of  the  wounded 
woodman  seemed  to  come  back  to  him.  He  looked  up  with  a 
smile,  and  said,  feebly,  as  he  beheld  her:  — 

"  God  bless  you,  Miss  Janet,  and  make  you  happy.  You 
see  he's  safe  ;  and  there's  no  danger  now,  for  I  rether  reckon, 
from  what  I  hear  and  from  what  I  don't  hear,  that  the  tories 
are  done  for." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Witherspoon  !  what  can  I  do  for  you?  I  hope 
you  are  not  much  hurt." 

"Pretty  bad,  T  tell  you.  I  feel  all  over  I  can't  tell  how) 
and  when  it  comes  to  that,  you  see,  it  looks  squally.  I'm 
afeard  I've  no  more  business  in  the  swamp." 

"  Speak  not  thus,  Jack  ;  but  let  us  help  you  to  the  house. 
Here,  Scipio,  lend  a  hand." 

But  the  woodman  resisted  them. 

"No!  no!"  he  exclaimed,  "  this  is  iny  house  —  the  woods. 
I've  lived  in  them,  and  I  feel  that  it  will  be  sweeter  to  die  in 
them  than  in  a  dark  little  room.  I  like  the  green  of  the  trees 
and  the  cool  feel  of  the  air.  I  can't  breathe  in  a  little  room 
as  I  can  in  the  woods." 

"  But,  dear  Jack,  you  can  be  better  attended  there  —  we  — 

"Don't  talk,  Airnest.  I  won't  ax  for  much  'tendance  now. 
I  feel  I'm  going  ;  my  teeth  stick  when  I  set  them  down,  and 
when  I  try  to  open  them  it's  hard  work.  I'm  in  a  bad  way,  I 
tell  you,  when  I  can't  talk  —  talking  was  so  nateral." 

"  What  can  I  bring  yon?" 


430 


MKLLICFIAMPK. 


"Water!"  lie  replied,  gaspingly. 

But,  with  the  effort  to  swallow,  there  came  a  rush  of  blood 
into  his  mouth,  which  almost  suffocated  him. 

"  It's  all  over  with  me  now,  Airnest,  hoy.  I've  clone  the 
best  for  you — " 

The  youth  squeezed  his  hand,  but  was  too  much  moved  to 
speak. 

"  I've  worked  mighty  hard  to  git  you  out  of  the  hobble,  and 
I'm  awful  glad  that  the  bullet  didn't  come  till  you  were  safe 
out  of  the  claws  of  that  varmint.  You've  got  a  clear  track 
now ;  and  oh  !  Miss  Janet,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  together, 
lock  and  lock,  as  I  may  say,  afore  I  die.  It's  a  God's  blessing 
that  I'm  let  to  see  it." 

He  linked  their  hands  as  he  spoke,  and  the  tears  flowed  as 
if  he  had  been  a  child.  Nor  were  the  two  bending  above  him 
less  moved. 

"When  you're  man  and  wife,  you  mustn't  forgit  Jack 
Witherspoon.  Ah,  Airnest,  you  can't  reckon  how  much  he 
loved  you." 

"  I  know  it — I  feel  it,  Jack.  Your  present  situation  —  this 
wound — " 

"  I  don't  mind  the  pain  of  it,  Airnest,  when  I  think  that  I 
saved  you.  You're  safe;  and  'tain't  no  hard  matter  to  die 
when  one's  done  all  his  business.  Indeed,  to  say  truth,  it's 
high  time  —  Ah!  it's  like  a  wild-cat  gnawing  into  the  bones!" 

The  dialogue,  broken  and  interrupted  frequently  by  the 
sorrow  of  the  spectators  and  the  agonizing  pain  of  Wither 
spoon,  was  at  length  interrupted  by  the  entrance  into  the  area 
of  the  partisan-general,  with  several  of  the  officers.  Marion 
spoke  in  a  low  tone  to  Scipio,  who  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
dying  man.  The  voice  was  recognised  by  him. 

"That's  the  gineral  —  the  old 'fox,'"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self;  and  he  strove  to  throw  back  his  eyes  sufficiently  to  see 
him. 

"  Stand  out  of  the  moonlight,  nigger  —  I  wants  to  see  the 
gineral." 

"I  am  here,  Thumbscrew,"  said  Marion,  kneeling  down 
beside  him  "  How  is  it  with  you,  my  friend  ?" 


JACK    WITHERSPOON.  431 

"  Bad  enough,  gineral.  You'll  have  to  put  me  in  the  odd 
leaf  of  the  orderly's  book.  I've  got  my  certificate." 

"  I  hope  not,  Thumby.  We  must  see  what  can  be  done 
for  yen.  We  can't  spare  any  of  our  men,"  said  Marion, 
encouragingly.  The  dying  man  smiled  feebly  as  he  spoke 
in  :  — 

I  know  you  can't,  and   that  makes  me  more  sorry.     But 
you  know  me,  grineral  —  wasn't  I  a  whig  from  the  first?" 

"I  believe  it — I  know  it.  You  have  done  your  duty 
always." 

"Put  that  down  in  the  orderly  book  —  I  was  a  whig  irom 
the  first." 

"I  will,"  said  Marion. 

"  And  after  it,  put  down  agen  —  he  was  a  whig  to  the  last." 

"I  will." 

"Put  down — -he  never  believed  in  the  torics,  and — "  (herv 
he  paused,  chokingly,  from  a  fit  of  coughing)  "  and  he  always 
made  them  believe  in  him." 

"You  have  done  nobly  in   the   good   cause,  John  With ei 
spoon,"  said  the  general,  while  his  eyes  were  filled  with  teart;, 
"  and  you  may  well  believe  that  Francis  Marion,  who  honors, 
you,  will  protect  your  memory.     Here  is  my  hand." 

The  woodman  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"Airnest—" 

The  youth  bent  over  him.  The  arms  of  the  dying  man 
were  lifted ;  they  clasped  him  round  with  a  fervent  grasp, 
and  brought  his  forehead  down  to  his  lips  — 

"Airnest!"  he  exclaimed  once  more,  and  then  his  grasp 
.was  relaxed.  He  lay  cold  and  lifeless;  the  rude  but  noble 
spirit  had  gone  from  the  humble  but  honorable  dwelling,  which 
it  had  informed  and  elevated.  The  grief  of  Ernest  Melli 
champe  was  speechless.  And  if  the  happiness  of  the  pair, 
united  in  the  sweetest  bonds  by  the  hands  of  the  dying  man, 
in  that  hour  of  pain,  was  ever  darkened  with  a  sorrow,  it  was 
when  they  thought  that  he  who  had  served  them  so  faithfully 
had  not  been  permitted  to  behold  it. 

THE     END 

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